


Champion's Flame

by theramblinggirl



Series: How Fate Finds Us [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A bit of one-sided Handers, Custom Hawke, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mostly Canon Compliant, Quest of the Bisexuals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 266,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinggirl/pseuds/theramblinggirl
Summary: Sarah Hawke never left Ferelden with hopes of fame and glory. Honestly, she just wanted to look after her family and have a good time. But life had other plans for her, and damn if she just can't say no to people in need. She might not be the most graceful, clever, or talented person, but she's the Champion that Kirkwall got.Meanwhile, she has a lot to work on in her personal life. From nosy friends to a very handsome elf, Hawke must find a way to balance the social struggles she faces with the more pressing problems of the city as a whole.A retelling of the events of DA2 with a bluish purple rogue Hawke with a pun for a name.This is a piece of the same universe as Warden Reborn and Warden Awakened, but the direct connections are very small. There is no need to read those before this, as they cover other characters and the events of the first game.





	1. Ride it Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to my latest fic! If you're new here, come on and pull up a seat and I hope you enjoy it. If not, be prepared for something a lot less serious and a lot more self indulgent than the other parts of this series so far.
> 
> If you know me then yes Hawke is literally named after me here. But the pun was too good to refuse!

The sound of the boat creaking kept Sarah Hawke awake for most of the journey. Her mabari slept soundly on her lap, his weight providing a bit of comfort through it all. If the noise and motion sickness weren’t enough to keep her up, the thoughts that sat heavy on her heart added to the struggle to rest. Her sister, Bethany, kept her head laid gently on Hawke’s shoulder. At least Bethany could sleep. They’d both lost their brother, but he had been Bethany’s twin. Hawke knew that it wasn’t the same feeling of loss for her.

Hawke looked over to Aveline, the red-haired woman who had ended up tied to their family by pure circumstance. She was still holding that shield. Hawke wanted to assure her that it had been the right thing to do, to spare Aveline’s husband the fate of a ghoul. They’d all heard the stories of what darkspawn taint did to a person. Death was kinder.

Words were meaningless, though. They wouldn’t bring back Wesley or Carver. They wouldn’t end the Blight that felt like it was still on their heels, even as they crossed the water just to escape it. There was a lot that Hawke was hoping she’d find within Kirkwall, even though she had no clue what to expect from it. Her mother promised an estate and a family fortune, but Hawke couldn’t believe that. Even if their uncle accepted them back in under family obligation, she couldn’t picture her family with riches or an estate. Not when their lives had been spent running from templars, hiding in inconspicuous farm houses and other modest homes. Her parents took whatever jobs they could, and Hawke had been pitching in since she was able to.

She was lucky, though. They were finally landing, thank the Maker. Hawke had just about enough of the underbelly of this ship for ten lifetimes. The people, all Fereldans running from the darkspawn, spread out from the ship like cattle. Their hopes were soon dashed as they saw that their group was only joining an already quite large crowd.

“They don’t appear to be letting anyone in,” Aveline said. She sounded exhausted as she looked ahead into the sea of refugees.

After all the time on the boat, land felt oddly steady. Hawke wasn’t certain she would ever readjust, or if her eyes would uncross. If she could at least convince her stomach to hold down the bit of stale bread they’d been given to sustain them, it would be enough. Unless they really couldn’t get into the city, which would provide a new host of issues. By the grumpy huffing noise her dog made, Sarah knew he had worries of his own.

“They can’t just leave us out here,” Bethany said. She was barely awake but already near tears. Hawke couldn’t stand to leave her mother or baby sister in this condition.

“We have uncle Gamlen. They’ll have to let us in. Let’s find someone to talk to before we give up hope,” Hawke insisted.

“We’ll have to try,” Leandra agreed. “I just hope he got the letter I sent.”

Even if he had received it, Hawke thought grimly how it was no guarantee. When her mother left Kirkwall to wed an apostate instead of some wealthy noble, they had been cut off from the Amell line. Hawke and her younger siblings never met their grandparents and now they never could. Gamlen Amell was the last of their family in Kirkwall. Hawke had never known any extended family before and wasn’t certain how to feel about meeting this stranger who just happened to be her mother’s brother.

They were sent forward by a grumpy guard, who told the group they could plead their case with a guard further in. They got through a few dark passageways, only to emerge on the other side with the Gallows staring them in the face. Bethany was visibly paler. It was difficult—actually, it was impossible to ignore the giant gilded statues of slaves bound and suffering, falling to their knees. Once these had been quite literal depictions of the slaves of Kirkwall, but now they stood metaphorically, reminding mages that they were at the mercy of the templars. Bethany was the most reluctant to enter the city, even if she admitted the need.

Sarah reached a hand out and found her sister’s, gripping it hard. They shared a glance, and Bethany smiled with a nervous laugh.

“I’m fine, sister. Let’s keep going,” Bethany said.

Hawke nodded. But it seemed they could not escape the arguments and shouting matches between fleeing Fereldans and the Kirkwall guards. She rolled her eyes and stepped through the crowd. Before Hawke could get a single word out, the guard held up a hand to stop them.

“No more room, you’ll have to turn back,” the guard said. By the sound of his voice, he’d said it about a thousand times that day alone to others just like them. Except that, what the guard didn’t realize, was that the Hawke family was _not_ like the other refugees.

“Kirkwall’s a large city, I find it hard to believe you can’t fit a few more people,” Hawke said. “Anyway, we have family in Kirkwall.”

“Our uncle, Gamlen Amell,” Bethany chimed in. “He’s a nobleman with an estate!”

The guard’s face tightened. “I know a Gamlen, but he’s a dirty cheating rat, not a noble. He could barely rub two coppers together.”

“That can’t be right,” Leandra said.

“Could you send word to him that we’re here anyway? He should be expecting us,” Hawke said. They could worry about Gamlen’s reputation later. First, Hawke wanted to get her mother into the city.

“I will have my men deliver your message, but I can’t promise anything,” the guardsman said. Unlike the guard earlier, he at least seemed to pity those stuck outside the city’s walls.

“You’re letting _them_ in? These louts what just got off the boat? We’ve been here five days, _five days_ and we got nothing! But they show up today and go right through?” the man who had been arguing with the guard earlier shouted.

“Technically, we’re not getting in yet,” Hawke murmured.

“Their situation is different, I—”

“No!” the man said, cutting off the guard. “I’ve had enough of waiting. Men, we’re getting into this city one way or another. Attack!”

Hawke’s hands were already on the handles of her daggers, ready to whip them out. These morons were not just going to cause a ruckus without the family saying something about it. Bethany stepped aside. She couldn’t use magic without the guard taking her in to the templars. They wanted to get into the city, but not by handing Bethany to the Circle.

Aveline, at least, had Hawke’s back. Aveline drew her sword and that shield she’d been clutching before. She charged into the fray, side-by-side with the guardsmen that had hurried to dispatch the angry refugees. Hawke fell into her usual pattern. She practically disappeared as she drew her daggers. With a graceful twirl, she wound up behind one of the men, landing a blow in his back. When Hawke couldn’t distract them on her own, her hound would bark and confuse them, or bite them to incapacitate them long enough for a dagger to fall wherever it was needed.

She continued this method, seeming to disappear and reappear without giving her opponents a moment to stop her blades. If they got too close, she stopped them in their tracks with smoke bombs or a bit of dirt thrown into their eyes. While they overcame the confusion, Hawke sliced their throats.

Hawke was grinning, taking in the thrill of the fight. She lost herself as she sliced into each man’s skin, bleeding them until they could no longer move. Hawke was about to burst out with a laugh, when she heard the loud clang of steel and felt someone fall back against her.

She whipped her head around to see Aveline, holding her ground as she stopped a man from swinging a large sword at Hawke. Had she not been there, Hawke realised, he would have run her through. She wished she could say this was the first time she’d had a close brush with death. Hawke would be thanking Aveline later for certain.

Pushing off from Aveline’s back, she jumped forward and landed her daggers into another man’s chest. He fell backwards as she released them. An arrow grazed her arm. Hawke whipped around and made herself disappear again, hoping to throw the archers off her track. Damned archers always caught her off guard!

Hawke rushed up behind Aveline, then circled around the archers, pulling one of them back to press against her before drawing her dagger lovingly across the man’s throat. Blood poured from his neck and Hawke drew back again. Aveline felled the last two enemies, then stopped to breathe.

“Well done, Hawke,” Aveline said, as if she hadn’t just saved Hawke’s life. Sarah sighed, placing her daggers back in their sheathes. Her shoulders slumped.

“Thanks for stopping that sword,” Hawke said. “Remind me to keep you around in a fight.”

“You’re welcome. I would expect the same of you, were your fighting style not quite so erratic,” Aveline said. Hawke laughed nervously.

“Yeah, sorry.”

They returned to the guard they had spoken to before. He thanked them for their assistance, then left to deliver their message to Gamlen. Hawke went straight to Bethany after that.

“Hey, uh, think you can stealthily mend this?” Hawke asked, pointing at the deep gash on her arm.

“How did—?”

“Arrow.”

“Ah,” Bethany said, nodding. “I think I can handle that.”

Bethany placed a hand over the cut, focusing her energy into it. Hawke huddled close to her sister to cover the glow of magic that spread from Bethany’s fingers. Sarah loved the beautiful green glow of the school of Creation. It reminded her of scraped knees and frightened tears, comforted by her father’s gentle magic. Hawke hadn’t met many other mages outside of her family, but she believed that there was a special energy that both Bethany and their father, Malcolm, shared. His hands had once held the same green glow.

She stepped away once the healing tingle disappeared. Hawke’s arm was patched up, good as new. Bethany offered to help Aveline as well, noting a couple of purple bruises on her skin, but Aveline didn’t want them to take more risk than necessary. Her bruises would heal naturally. They found a spot off to the side of things, putting the small amount of their belongings they’d manage to gather on the ground. They didn’t have much food left, but it was enough to last until Gamlen came for them.

They set up places to sleep. Bethany and Hawke fussed over their mother, making sure she would be comfortable through the night.

“I’ll be alright, girls. You need your sleep, too,” Leandra said.

Hawke knew she was right, but she hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a couple of hours since they left Lothering. If she closed her eyes for too long, she saw the ogre’s large hand swiping down and grabbing Carver. Hawke never woke up soon enough, and always had to watch the ogre squeeze, crushing her baby brother’s body. Instead of facing the nightmare again, Hawke sat awake, her mabari asleep in her lap. She wasn’t alone.

Aveline sat beside her, for similar reasons. She hadn’t told anyone how she dreamed of Wesley’s face, transformed by the darkspawn taint. In her hands she held the shield and a cloth to wipe the blood from the smooth metal surface. Hawke watched, hypnotized by the repeated circular motions Aveline made.

“That belonged to him, didn’t it?” Hawke asked.

“It did. It does,” Aveline said, putting the cloth down.

“There was a moment there, before the Witch of the Wilds lead us to safety, I thought about grabbing something of Carver’s. But I didn’t want to seem sentimental,” Hawke admitted. “Not when I was supposed to look after him and make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Not when mother and Bethany are already grieving so much.”

Aveline breathed deeply, opening her mouth like she was going to say something. She thought against it, and looked down at Ser Wesley’s shield.

“I understand,” Aveline said. “You have your family to look after, so you have to be strong. It's your duty to them.”

Hawke wondered if this was a lecture or Aveline’s idea of comfort. It had struck a nerve, sure, but only because of how much it mimicked Hawke’s own thoughts. They’d been together all this time, but the two women barely knew each other still. Given the choice, Hawke wasn’t sure if Aveline would stay with them or leave, never to speak to any of them ever again. Whatever the reason, Hawke hoped Aveline would stay and become a friend.

It took two days before Gamlen arrived in the middle of the afternoon. The guard informed them politely that he was waiting by the main gate into the city. The four women moved as a unit, until Leandra saw her brother and broke off, running ahead into Gamlen’s arms. He didn’t seem half as excited to see her as she was to see him. Instead, he was squirming, awkwardly attempting to return the hug as if he’d never heard of the concept before.

“Gamlen! It’s good to see you again, dear brother,” Leandra said. She placed her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing away from him to get a good look at his face. It had been about twenty five years since she fled the city with Malcolm Hawke. A lot had changed. Gamlen said as much.

“You know your letter was very sudden. I expected you to remain a Fereldan forever, so it’s not like I was prepared to have you here. Let alone your children,” Gamlen said, looking behind his sister. He counted two women that looked like Leandra’s children ought to, though he hated the features he saw in them that must have belonged to their apostate father. The third, Aveline, was hulking and entirely unfamiliar.

“I know, Gamlen. But the Blight… We lost Carver,” Leandra said, choking back a sob. She could still barely speak his name.

“I’m so sorry, Leandra. But you see, getting into Kirkwall is, well, it’s going to cost a lot to bribe the guards,” Gamlen said.

“Aren’t we rich?” Bethany said. “Mother mentioned an estate and titles to go with it.”

“Yes, well you see, it’s…gone,” Gamlen said. The man shrunk about two inches when he said this.

“ _Gone?!_ ” Leandra burst. “How could this have happened, Gamlen?”

“I had to sell it to pay off some debts. My life has changed quite a lot since you left us behind, sister. I had to look after our parents. You could have at least come back for their funeral,” Gamlen argued.

“The twins were barely a week old!”

“Mother,” Hawke said, placing a hand on Leandra’s shoulder. “Uncle Gamlen, surely there’s some way you can get us into the city. Estate or not, it has to be better to be on the other side of the gates than stuck out here for another day. Even if you can only get mother in—”

“No,” Leandra insisted. “We stay together. It’s all of us or none of us.” At least she made it clear where the Hawke children got their stubbornness.

“It’s alright,” Gamlen said, though the way he tugged on his collar, sweating profusely, told Hawke otherwise. “I have a couple of...contacts. They have the connections to make the bribes needed to get all of you in. All they ask is for a year of service from your children.”

Leandra was about to have a fit. She was already starting to scold Gamlen for even thinking of selling her daughters into servitude. Bethany nudged her sister forward. Hawke was the eldest, which apparently meant she had to take control of things. Sarah Hawke sighed, feeling unprepared as usual, and placed herself between her uncle and mother.

“What’s a year? As long as we’ve warm beds and a roof over our heads, I’m sure the time will pass like it was nothing,” Hawke said to her mother, then turned to her uncle. “What are the jobs?”

“Well, there’s Meeran, who runs a group of mercenaries…”

Leandra appeared like she might faint.

“...and a woman named Athenril. I suppose you could say her business is...smuggling.”

“Ah, so both wonderful choices. Bethany, do you have a preference for which probable criminal we work for?” Hawke said.

“Not really. As long as it gets us into Kirkwall and keeps us far from the templars, I’m okay with anything,” Bethany said.

That had been a challenge while they remained outside the city. Sometimes they needed a fire to keep them warm, but it wasn’t like Bethany could just cast a fireball and be done with it. Not with guards and templars patrolling the area. If they ever needed Bethany’s magic for anything, they had to be on strict watch while she worked, covering it as carefully as they could. Despite the fact that Aveline had been married to a templar, she seemed rather on board with protecting Hawke’s sister. If not for the fact that they’d both been saving each other's lives, Hawke might have thought it was a debt of gratitude. Instead, she was seeing a kind heart beneath the warrior’s rough exterior.

“What about me?” Aveline spoke up. “I will not have others incur debts on my behalf.”

“Not to worry, dear,” Leandra assured her. “You’re with us. Like it or not, you’re family now.”

Aveline’s eyes widened, but she collected herself quickly. “I...thank you.”

With nothing left to discuss, Hawke sought out the woman Gamlen had mentioned. Mercenary work was messy and had no class. Smuggling had a sense of mystique to it. They would have to be able to sneak and use their wits. That suited Hawke just fine. Bethany seemed better suited for life as a smuggler as well. Strong as Hawke knew her sister was, it was hard to picture Bethany as a mercenary.

Athenril’s job was simple, get coin out of a dirty dealer. Though Hawke would have loved to scare the wits out of the guy herself, she let Aveline have at him. Getting to watch him nearly piss himself out of fear was entertainment enough. He relinquished the coin before running off, likely for a change of trousers.

“You got the coin? And so quick, too. Gamlen was right to send you ladies to me. Tell your uncle I’ll set up the deals. It will be a pleasure working with you, Hawke,” Athenril said. Then she nodded to her two cohorts, and sauntered away. Hawke wasn’t sure about it being a pleasure, but they certainly wouldn’t be bored.

With the deal made, it took only a day more before Hawke’s family and Aveline were escorted into the city. They made their way to the Lowtown slums, where Gamlen’s house stood. Sarah’s mabari snorted at the sight of the dirty little hovel, but Hawke welcomed the place, pleased just to have a door to close behind her and something more akin to a bed than a dirty floor. They got the first day free, to settle into the city and adjust. They would have to learn every corner of every street, every spot where a deal could go down without interference.

Aveline stayed with them for only a few days, applying almost immediately for a position as a guard. Given her experience under King Cailan’s service, she was a desirable asset, and was taken in as a recruit. From there, she moved into the barracks, to train with the rest of the initiates for a year. Hawke was nervous at first, as Aveline knew a lot about their dealings with Athenril. Instead of being caught, however, it seemed that the guards were diverted more than usual. Aveline was nothing if not loyal.

✖✖✖✖✖

The year was work, hard work, but by the end, most of the Undercity had heard mention of Sarah Hawke and her talents. Athenril was the only smuggler left standing in Kirkwall, due entirely to Hawke’s help. Bethany, on the other hand, was glad her name escaped mention. The less attention she received, the better. It made it easier to dodge templars when they were focused on your infamous sister.

Yet, freedom had its own price. Without Athenril and her men looking after the Hawke family directly, they had to take what small jobs they could. They were running out of coin, and out of options. The last thing Hawke wanted to do was turn back to the servitude she’d just escaped, but unless an opportunity revealed itself, the sisters didn’t have many other options.

“Okay, hear me out,” Hawke started to say. She’d taken Bethany out for a drink at the Hanged Man. Any place was better than Gamlen’s house, because there was a higher probability that Gamlen wouldn’t be there. Neither of the sisters could really stomach the swill passed off as ale at the Hanged Man, but it did the trick when they wanted to get a little buzz going.

“Would the Circle be so bad?” Hawke asked.

“ _Shh!_ ” Bethany hissed. “Do you really want the whole bar to know what I am?”

“Sorry,” Hawke said, covering her mouth.

“And yes, it would be. It’s a cage, sister, you know that. I’d be locked up like a rabid animal and if they didn’t kill me on the spot, they’d put me through the Harrowing. Or worst of all, make me Tranquil. You’ve seen them, sister. Looked into their eyes? They’re hollow. I would remember you, and mother, and Carver and father...but I wouldn’t be able to remember what it was like to love you. That is a fate worse than death,” Bethany said.

“I know all that but, if you were taken in, passed the Harrowing and everything, wouldn’t you get food and water and a warm bed? You wouldn’t have to listen to Uncle Gamlen gripe about how we’re taking advantage of his ‘generosity’ anymore, either,” Hawke said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“But I wouldn’t remember how much of an ass he is if I were Tranquil and would never get the real satisfaction behind getting away from him,” Bethany said.

“Fair enough,” Hawke said. Hard to disagree with the fear of Tranquility. The thought of it made Hawke’s blood run cold. They’d fought undead on a couple of missions for Athenril, and even they seemed to have more life in them than Tranquil mages. Despite the suggestion, Hawke would never actually consider handing Bethany over. Even if Bethany did get a better, more comfortable life, she would be separated from Hawke, which was more pain than either sister could bear. They had so little left, how could they not cling to each other?

A couple tables over, a very drunk man was shouting. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in the filthy tavern, but when Hawke started to catch bits of what he was saying, she fixated on the drunk. She needed every detail.

“Bartrand says we’ll be filthy rich, and all we have to do is fight some nasty darkspawn! I seen ‘em before, them monsters, but I think I could take ‘em. All’ve gotta do is guard him in the Deep Roads, then I buy myself a fancy Hightown mansion and a dress for the missus!” the drunk boasted.

Hawke looked back to her sister, making sure Bethany was catching all of this as well. Their eyes each shared the same twinkle. They’d caught every word. Hawke leapt out of her seat, sashaying towards where the drunken man and his friends sat.

“Gentleman, I couldn’t help but overhear,” Hawke said. She pretended to be horribly impressed by the man’s words. “Aren’t the Deep Roads _really_ dangerous?”

“That’s right!” the man said, then hiccuped gloriously. “But Bartrand tells me that since the Blight only just ended, that they’ll be a bit safer for the next few weeks. Long enough to do an exhibition down in there, find whatever treasures them old dwarves left behind.”

“Do you mean an ‘expedition?’” Hawke corrected.

“That’s the one!” the man cheered, pointing a grimy finger at her. “No place for a lady, though, I gotta say.”

“That’s alright. I’m not much of a lady. Where can I find this Bartrand?” Hawke asked.

“I ain’t tellin’ you. Bartrand got limited spots. And one of ‘em is mine.”

“Surely there’s no harm in a little…” Hawke was close to the drunkard, the tip of her dagger poking the man’s belly just enough for him to feel it. “...friendly competition?”

“F-fine! It ain’t worth dyin’ over,” the drunk relented. Hawke drew back with a smile and gestured for him to proceed. “Bartrand is up in Hightown, over by them old dwarven statues. Out there every day with his men. But don’t blame me if he won’t take you.”

“Not to worry. I’m sure he will be just as agreeable as you’ve been,” Hawke said. She turned on her heel and returned to Bethany, who was shaking her head.

“The man is drunk and just as desperate as every other Fereldan in here, must you resort to threats?” Bethany said.

“You know as well as I do I wouldn’t have done anything,” Hawke said.

“It’s still unsavory. And it could bring us more trouble than it gets us out of.”

Hawke sighed. Of course her sister was right, and normally Hawke would aim to solve things peacefully, but the desperation was getting to her. She brought a finger over her chest and drew an ‘x’ over it.

“Cross my heart, Bethany, I will not be threatening people for information anymore. Not even if it seems like our only option,” Hawke swore.

“Well…” Bethany mumbled, “I didn’t say _never_. Just make sure you really need to before you do. And make sure it’s some scum who deserves it.”

Hawke laughed and put an arm over her sister’s shoulder. “Absolutely.”


	2. Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders!!!

The drunken man’s information had been correct, and still the Hawke siblings were walking away with nothing. Bartrand had, quite rudely, turned them down. All the infamy in the world couldn’t get Hawke a decent job.

“I’m sorry,” Bethany said, as if she was at fault for any of it. “Maybe we could threaten a few more drunks for information?”

Hawke smiled at her sister’s teasing, but it fell back to a mopey frown after only a moment. What were the chances another random stranger would provide exactly what Hawke needed?

Sarah Hawke felt someone hit her shoulder hard, nearly making her fall over. She was about to shout at the asshole for bumping her, when she noticed her belt was lighter. Their last bit of coin was in some thief’s hands! Hawke started after him, anxious and furious.

But the thief was stopped dead in his tracks before he could get away from her. A well-placed arrow pinned the pathetic pickpocket to a wall.

Hawke watched as the dwarf who shot her thief strolled up casually, an odd crossbow that was nearly as tall as he was strapped tight to his back. He said something to the pickpocket, who looked like nothing more than a frightened boy now, and pulled the bolt sharply out of the thief’s shoulder before taking Hawke’s coin purse back. The dwarf gestured with his head for the boy to run, and run he did.

“You ought to be more careful, miss. Every amateur thief in Hightown is after some quick coin, no matter how much you have,” the dwarf said, tossing back the sack of coins.

“Thanks for your help,” Hawke said. “Though I have to ask why exactly you’d step in on a stranger’s behalf.”

“Oh, and where are my manners? The name is Varric Tethras, and I saw you talking to my brother back there,” the dwarf said, twirling the slightly bloodied crossbow bolt in his hand.

“You’re related to Bartrand?” Hawke said. “My condolences.”

Varric laughed. He definitely had the better sense of humor out of the Tethras brothers. Actually, he was the only one who had a sense of humor, as Bartrand was tragically born without one. Varric said as much himself. “Problem is, he tends to think small, and misses the bigger picture. We don’t need more petty hirelings, we need a partner. I think you might be the person we’re looking for, Hawke.”

“You know my name?” Hawke asked.

“Plenty of Athenril’s thugs still brag about you whenever they’ve got the chance. I have to say, you’re a bit tricky to find. I got stuck for nearly an hour talking to one of them trying to figure out your first name,” Varric said. “The idiot kept saying ‘Serah Hawke,’ and I kept telling him that I wanted your first name, not a title. I was lucky that his friend came over and spelled out the difference for me, or we could have gone on like that for days!”

Hawke laughed. “Yeah, I think my dad had a bit of a sense of humor when he named me. Confused everyone on purpose,” she said. She was liking this dwarf already.

“Well, Sarah Hawke, what I mean to say is, your reputation precedes you,” Varric said.

“And my reputation?” Bethany chimed in sheepishly.

“I heard about a sister, but not anything of your skills,” Varric told them.

Bethany breathed a sigh of relief.

“So,” Varric said, “are you interested in what I have to offer?”

“I’ll bite,” Hawke said, shrugging. “What’s your plan?”

“Bartrand talks a good game, but anyone who actually knows him knows he doesn’t have near enough coin to fund the expedition like he needs. You gather fifty sovereigns, fund it, come along with us, and we split the treasure we find evenly.”

“If we had that kind of coin to spare, we wouldn’t be begging your brother for work,” Hawke said.

“Think of it this way, then. There is only so long after the Blight that the Deep Roads are safe for average adventurers to travel. If we wait too long, none of us will get whatever treasure Bartrand says he’s discovered,” Varric said.

“Still, I hope you have some idea of what we can do to gather the coin,” Hawke said.

“No problem. You and I just have to keep our ears to the ground for any little bit of work that needs doing. Even if we just fetch some nobleman’s lost puppy, if it gets us a few silver, that’s a few more silver than we had yesterday,” Varric said. “There is one other thing we’ll need. Come by the Hanged Man, sometime. I’ve got a suite there, upstairs. We’ll have a pint and hash out the details. Oh, and any other help you’ve got that you can bring along would be good.”

“Oh!” Bethany said, “Aveline is a full fledged guard now. Maybe she’ll be able to help us?”

“Sounds like you’ve already got some leads then,” Varric said with a grin. “Bianca and I can also offer our services to you whenever you need the assistance.”

“Who’s Bianca?” Hawke and Bethany asked in unison.

“My crossbow!” Varric said, brandishing it again. It was the oddest and largest crossbow Hawke had ever seen. The force behind it had to be massive.

“Alright,” Hawke said. “We’ll be by the Hanged Man tonight. For now, I think my sister and I should find our friend.”

Varric nodded. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” He slung Bianca over his back again and trotted off. Yes, Hawke liked Varric a _lot_ more than his brother.

The sisters went straight to the Guard’s Barracks after that, finding Aveline staring at the postings with a deeply set furrow in her brow. She could never be satisfied so long as there was justice to serve. Hawke knew she loved being in the guard, however. Apparently, Aveline had a job for the sisters to help on. Which she mentioned only after she let slip that she had people keeping an eye on Hawke again.

“You know I hate that, right?” Hawke grumbled. “I’m going to become horribly paranoid if you keep that up.”

“I just want to be sure you’re not getting in over your head with trouble. Watch out for that Bartrand. He’s a son of a bitch,” Aveline said.

“I’ll tell Varric you said that,” Hawke joked.

“Who?”

“Bartrand’s brother. He’s offered to help out. Care to join us at the Hanged Man tonight? Varric has a plan for everything,” Hawke told Aveline.

“I hate that place,” Aveline said, wrinkling her nose. It was like she could smell the stale piss and vomit already. “But alright, Hawke, if you think this is important, I can join you. Just don’t get me involved in anything unsavory. Not after last time.”

“I keep telling you, I had no idea that guy intended to—”

“Sister,” Bethany interrupted. “We agreed never to speak of it again.”

“Oh, right.” To be fair, thinking of the ordeal made her shudder. The stink still hadn’t washed out from her boots. “Anyway, I’ll see you tonight. Then we can see about handling your little problem!” Hawke said, already skipping away.

Aveline shook her head while Bethany mumbled an apology.

✖✖✖✖✖

That night, they gathered at a table in the far corner of the Hanged Man. Aveline flat out refused to drink anything they would serve and Bethany didn’t want to have stomach pains like last time. Only Varric and Hawke imbibed, slamming their flagons together with a hearty cheer. It was like they’d known each other for ages, the way they got along.

Varric’s plan was relatively simple, but Hawke was certain it would be more difficult than it seemed. She didn’t like to be the pessimist, but these things never went her way. All they had to do was find some Fereldan Grey Warden, ask for their precious Warden maps, and hopefully receive them without hassle. They would be able to tell the group where the right places were for getting into the Deep Roads.

What worried Hawke was that this Grey Warden was in hiding, which could mean a number of things. He could be a deserter or even a murderer. But what was life if no one took any chances?

The four would meet next morning outside Gamlen’s house to enact the plan. There wasn’t anything to do until sunlight broke. Bethany was relieved, releasing a loud yawn. They had run all over Kirkwall and needed rest before they could get back to it.

The next day, they found themselves in Lirene’s Ferelden Imports, hearing about some fantastic healer who was helping refugees. Hawke looked to Bethany with a questioning look, but her sister shrugged. This was the first she was hearing of such a person.

“Excuse me, is there some way we could be of assistance?” Hawke asked. Hopefully that would butter up this Lirene person.

“I thank you for being considerate, but I’m afraid the best thing you can do is just to offer a bit of coin. People need food and I swear those Hightown scum just keep raising the prices to starve us out of Kirkwall,” Lirene said, wiping a bit of sweat on her brow.

Hawke dipped a hand into her coin purse, producing a sovereign. “Anything to help fellow refugees,” she said.

“Many thanks, serah. If that’s all, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be on your way. My people require tending to,” Lirene said.

“Actually,” Hawke said, halting the woman before she could return to work, “I was also looking for a bit of information. On a Grey Warden?”

“Like the ones who defeated the Blight? The Warden that now sits in Ferelden as Queen?” Lirene said. “Everyone knows about her, and our blessed King Alistair.”

“Actually, I heard there was one more...locally? Here in Kirkwall?”

The woman blanched. “I’m afraid I cannot help you. That man does a lot of good for us, and I won’t see him handed over to templars.”

“Templars?” Bethany said, pushing her way forward. “You mean he’s a mage?”

“An apostate, yes. He heals our people without asking for any pay in return,” Lirene said.

“You have nothing to fear from us,” Bethany said. “We bear no love for templars.”

Aveline stiffened behind them, but Hawke pretended not to notice. It wasn’t all templars Aveline cared for. Just one, and he was gone.

“Then perhaps it would be alright to send you to Anders. He’s got a clinic in Darktown. Look for the lit lantern, and you’ll find him inside. Don’t mind him if he’s a little jumpy. A lot of time in the Deep Roads will do that to a man,” Lirene said.

“Thank you,” Hawke said. “You’ve been a great help to us.” She dropped fifty silver extra into the donations box on her way out. It was the least she could do.

✖✖✖✖✖

Darktown wasn’t a place Hawke found herself in by choice, ever. It was a good place to hide out, she supposed, as not even guards and templars wanted to walk the muddied paths that reeked of some unnamed stench. It had been a favorite place of Athenril’s to send Hawke for dirty dealings. Now it was overrun by thugs with whom Hawke had no affiliation, and thus she saw no need to cry over them as she ran her daggers into their hearts.

“I’m sure you’ll make quite the impression, sister,” Bethany pointed out. Hawke quirked a brow, but looked at the blood splatters over her armor and wiped a little more of it off of her face, and knew what her sister meant. Walking up to someone covered in blood never made them feel comforted.

“I’ll just explain that Coterie thugs popped out and gave me no choice but to stab them. Repeatedly,” Hawke said with a smile.

Bethany shook her head, but walked on. If Anders really was as jumpy as Lirene made him sound, this was not a good start to things. With luck, he’d be understanding.

He was not. Not at first anyway, as he raised his staff in defense, flares of blue magic sprawled over his skin and eyes. It was unlike anything Hawke had ever seen Bethany do, but of course Bethany was less experienced, working only off of what her father had been able to teach. Either way, Hawke knew she had to ask her sister to vouch for them yet again. Bringing her seemed to be something of a boon that day.

“We mean no harm. I’m an apostate, same as you are, and three of us are Fereldans as well. We’ve more in common than you know,” Bethany said.

“Still less than you would think,” Anders said, though he lowered his staff. “I apologize. I can’t take any chances. Not with templars constantly looking for this place.”

“They really need to get a hobby if all they can think to do is hunt down people trying to help the poor,” Hawke said. “I take it you’re the Grey Warden we’ve heard so much about?”

“That would be me, yes, though I’m not a Warden anymore,” Anders said.

“Can you do that? Leave the Wardens?”

“No. But I did anyway, and I never regretted it. They took my cat from me, poor Ser Pounce-a-lot,” Anders said.

“That...has got to be the single greatest name for a cat in the history of Thedas,” Hawke said.

“You think so?” Anders said, looking delighted. “Anyway, I assume you didn’t just come to talk about cats. Though if you did I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Sorry, not today. I was actually hoping to get a look at your maps. To the Deep Roads. You see we’re planning an expedition and—”

“Oh,” Anders breathed. He sighed, taking a few steps back to sit down on a cot. “I’m not certain I would advise that. The Deep Roads can be dangerous for anyone who isn’t a Warden, and even then it’s not like a stroll through an Orlesian garden.”

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Hawke said. “Trust me, we can handle ourselves.”

“You do look capable,” Anders said, looking over her. He had, of course, noticed the many bloodstains on her body. Yet, his eyes also lingered in places, though he willed them not to hold too long. “Alright, how about this. A favor for a favor. I’ve a...friend, another mage, who needs help escaping the Circle. But I’m worried we may meet some resistance. Namely, templars.”

“Seems entirely probable,” Hawke commented.

“Will you help?” Anders asked.

“Yes, I suppose that’s a fair trade. Where shall we go?” Hawke asked.

“Not now. But tonight...at the Chantry. Be on the lookout for signs of trouble,” Anders said, standing back up. “Thank you for this.”

“Thank me once your friend is free,” Hawke said. Anders nodded.

✖✖✖✖✖

He could not thank Hawke properly. Not when they found his friend, Karl, already Tranquil and placed as a trap for Anders himself.

“Karl, no…”

Hawke couldn’t help but notice the strain in Anders’ voice as he saw what they’d done to Karl. She was starting to reach out, hoping to offer comfort, but the trap was sprung. Templars flooded the scene, and they had no choice but to fight. But Anders was not just preparing himself to fight.

He was trembling, violently shaking with rage. Hawke watched the same blue glow spread over him, just like it had earlier that day in the clinic. His eyes flared bright, like cooly colored stars set in his face. What frightened Hawke was the way his voice changed to a deep growl, a much more animalistic sound than the kind voice she’d been growing accustomed to hearing.

“You will not take another mage as you have taken him!” Anders shouted. He took down three of the templars on his own.

Aveline was aghast, clearly as disturbed by the man’s transformation as Hawke was, but there was no time to wonder over him. They were part of this now, and had to fight.

Hawke slid into the shadows, thankful for the night providing extra cover. It was more challenging to fight fully armed templars, but Hawke was an expert in finding the holes in armor. Her small blades slid easily between the gaps, making lacerations that bled as the men continued to fight. Before long they would pass out and give Hawke the chance to land the finishing blows.

What troubled her was the wild magic that soared around them. Anders was lost to his fury, a force of pure destructive power that could not be contained. She feared that he might strike her by accident, or Bethany or the others. If he didn’t reign himself in, Hawke wasn’t sure what to do. Whatever magic he wielded, it was deadly powerful.

By the end, she wasn’t sure if she was more frightened, or more angry with him. It would have to wait, because the focus switched to Karl. Karl was calling out Anders’ name, looking like a fog had lifted from his eyes.

“Anders? What are you...Maker, I can’t believe this. How did you do that?” Karl said.

Bethany was flustered. “Wait a minute, I thought you were Tranquil? Why do you sound so different now?”

“I was...I am, but Anders… It’s like the Fade is within him, burning like a sun. I sense no tear in the Veil, but he woke me,” Karl said. He looked ready to cry. “I’m afraid it won’t last, I already feel it slipping.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Hawke asked.

Anders lowered his head. “No,” he said, voice breaking. “There is no cure for Tranquility. You’re cut off from the Fade forever.”

“Anders, please, I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’d rather die than go back to that emptiness. You have to kill me,” Karl begged.

“I know,” Anders said. He rose a small blade he’d tucked within his robes and held it over Karl, hesitating.

“Now, Anders! I’m…” Karl said, clutching his head. But he lifted it again, and his expression was blank as it had been before. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Goodbye,” Anders whispered.

Hawke didn’t want to watch this. She didn’t want to see a good man die. But her eyes couldn’t tear themselves from the blade as it was driven into Karl’s chest, stilling his beating heart. He crumpled like paper on the ground.

Anders retrieved his blade and turned to leave. He barely spoke a word to Hawke as he made his way out of the Chantry. Only enough to let Hawke know he would be back at the clinic tomorrow with the maps he’d promised. As if she could think about maps at a time like this. She looked back to Karl’s body, lying awkwardly on the cold tiled floor.

“Aveline, can you carry him?” Hawke asked. She looked to her friends, who stood wordlessly beside her. “This man deserves a burial. I won’t have him left in the place that despised him for what he was.”

“Hawke, I’m not sure that’s wise,” Aveline said. She was quieter than Hawke was used to, the way she had been those first nights outside the gates of Kirkwall, when it was just the two of them sitting up and talking.

“Please, Aveline,” Hawke begged. She couldn’t stand this. She should have been used to the loss by then, but it still raked in her chest as if to destroy her from the inside out. Hawke always felt too strongly, loved too deeply, and hurt too personally. She had no way of detaching herself from the situation.

Aveline did not argue any further. It seemed that the coast was clear for the moment, anyhow, and they could make it somewhere quiet, just on the outskirts of the city, to bury Karl. The Chantry wouldn’t have his body, not like they’d taken his mind.

The sun was just barely rising when the four of them were finished. Varric had spoken a few words over the man that none of them had the chance of knowing. It seemed only right to give him something. None of them were certain they believed in any Maker or clear afterlife, but if there was some god to hear them, at least they would make sure Karl was given the proper treatment in his passing.

Hawke decided to forgo a trip home to Gamlen’s. Bethany was too exhausted to drag herself to Darktown with her sister, and Aveline had to report for duty with the guard. Varric was the only person able to stand in solidarity with Hawke as she found the clinic again. As she’d suspected, Anders was awake, either because he woke up with the sun or because he didn’t sleep at all. By the circles under his eyes, she suspected the latter.

“I wanted to check up on you,” Hawke said. “After everything that happened.”

Anders was forcing a smile that looked like it hurt him to form. Hawke wanted to tell him he needn’t do such things for her. She knew it wasn’t actually _for_ her, however. He would grieve in his own time, in his own way.

“I’ve got your maps ready, they’re on the desk over there. Take them. You’ve earned it,” Anders said. He sounded so tired.

“Thank you, but I’m more interested in seeing how you’re holding up,” Hawke said. Despite her words, she gestured for Varric to go ahead and take the maps. The dwarf nodded and walked off.

Anders groaned. It was a strain on him to hold up the facade. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary. Karl is...Karl is gone, and there’s nothing I can do.” He buried his face in his hands. The sleeplessness was catching up with him.

“I know,” Hawke said. She searched for the words to console him. “I lost my brother a year ago, and I still think about him almost every day. If it helps, I’m willing to talk with you. Oh, and I wanted you to know, we buried him. I figured you might want to visit him and...and say goodbye.” Hawke waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, she grew nervous. “Um, I’m sorry that was way too personal, wasn’t it? I mean, it’s not like I knew him but I just thought...I mean if I could have buried Carver I…”

“Hawke,” Anders said, and she stopped talking. He was smiling, but this time it was more genuine. Still sad, still soft and ghostly, but real. “Thank you. I think I would like that.”

Hawke nodded. There was still so much she wanted to ask, about the blue glowing and his apparent connection to the Fade, but it could wait. She was certain this was not the last time she would speak with Anders. He proved her right.

“Since you went above and beyond in helping me, I’d like to offer my services to you. I’d hate to go back to the Deep Roads, but after seeing you fight, you seem like you might need a healer by your side. And if you care about mages as much as you seem to, I would be proud to assist you in whatever you would have me do,” Anders said.

“I appreciate that,” Hawke said. “Actually, since you offered, I have this bruise on my back that’s taking forever to heal?”

“Say no more,” Anders said. His hands flared green, Hawke’s favorite color, and she turned around so he could heal the sore spot. She sighed audibly as the pain washed away. Anders was grateful that she was facing away from him, because that way she wouldn’t see the blush that sprang up in his cheeks. The noise she had made was all too sweet to his ears.

“These maps are perfect, Blondie,” Varric said, rejoining the two and interrupting any chance of a moment. “There is no way the Wardens parted with these willingly.”

“Oh, they didn’t,” Anders said with a grin, ignoring the new nickname. “I took them to make sure they weren’t trying to track me. Thankfully, they were completely uninterested in finding me. No doubt Nyx interfered so they’d let me go.”

“Nyx?” Hawke asked.

“Yeah, Queen of Ferelden. We’ve been on a first name basis since I helped her in Amaranthine,” Anders said, as if he were telling them he knew the local grocer.

“Now you have _got_ to come down to the Hanged Man sometime. I bet you’ve got all sorts of stories. Perhaps even some good dirty ones,” Varric said, eyes aglow.

“Varric,” Hawke chided. But she had to admit, she was curious as well. She’d not been in Ferelden for a year, but still felt a connection to her old home. Perhaps talking with Anders, who had been in Ferelden much more recently than she or her family had, would bring back some sense of belonging she’d missed in Kirkwall.

“I’ll consider the invitation, thank you,” Anders said.

Varric and Hawke were about to go, thinking about lying in bed for a few long hours before doing any other jobs for the day, but Anders held Hawke back. She told Varric to go ahead. She could make it back to Lowtown on her own without any trouble.

“I’m not sure I should tell you this, but if we’re working together you should know. It could endanger you otherwise,” Anders said.

“Is this about that glowy thing you did before? With the scary voice?” Hawke said.

“Was it that scary?”

“Well, it wasn’t what I expected to come out of you,” Hawke said with a nervous laugh.

Anders sighed. “I’m sorry, Hawke. Back when I was in Amaranthine, we met a spirit. A spirit of Justice, actually. He wound up in the body of a dead Warden, but stayed with us to fight the darkspawn that threatened the city. After we defeated the Mother, this twisted Broodmother that could think and speak for herself, he stayed with the Wardens. I talked to him about the plight of mages and he sympathized. After a while the body he inhabited it...well it couldn’t last forever. So I offered myself up to him, as a vessel. I thought it was better than just letting him disappear or stay stuck in a corpse forever. But when we merged, he changed. I didn’t realize just how much anger I held within me. He’s transformed from a force of Justice to one of Vengeance.”

Hawke was stunned. Of all the things she’d expected—not that she’d had any idea what to expect, if she was being completely honest—that was not a possibility that crossed her mind. She’d heard stories of possessions, but none of them maintained so much humanity like Anders showed.

“Does this make you an…?” she began.

“An abomination? Not exactly, though I understand why you ask that. An abomination is born of a deal a mage makes with a demon, but Justice is no demon. Just as demons mirror our sins, the kind spirits of the Fade mirror virtues. It’s my fault that Justice became what he is,” Anders said.

“You were trying to help your friend,” Hawke reasoned. “That was a noble effort. You couldn’t have known that this would be the outcome.”

“I know that,” Anders said. He began to pace, keeping himself awake. He needed sleep as much as she did. “I can’t say I regret it, either. He’s inspired me to help mages, like your sister, like Karl, to free them. No mage deserves to be killed or made Tranquil for a gift they didn’t choose.” The blue glow flared in his eyes for a moment, but with a breath he quieted his anger.

“Can you...control it?” Hawke asked. She had flinched when she saw the glow. It was hard to control the instinctual fear that clung to her heart.

“Sometimes, yes,” Anders said. It wasn’t a particularly satisfying answer, but Hawke recognized his need for denial. She’d seen Bethany do the same thing when Hawke asked about what demons and the Fade were like in dreams, when they were clearer. Being a mage was living in fear. Templars did not help to ease that feeling.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Hawke said. “I’m not sure I’d be able to tell you if it were my secret.”

“I’m sure you’ve a dark, mysterious past of your own,” Anders joked.

“If by dark and mysterious you mean strange and confusing,” Hawke said, thinking back on her own stories. The things she thought of that formed her most were things even her sister didn’t fully know about. The rest was mostly related to Malcolm and Bethany and the constant need to run and move before templars found them. It was no ordinary childhood by any standards, and even though Carver had sought to bring the two of them into a sense of normalcy in adulthood, Hawke knew their lives would never be ordinary. It wasn’t who they were.

“Strange can be interesting as well,” Anders said.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to be the judge of that. But only if you come by the Hanged Man, like you promised Varric,” Hawke said.

“The Hanged Man it is,” Anders agreed.

Hawke left him, insisting that they both needed rest before they could think about a rowdy night of drinks and cards with the dwarf. Gamlen grumped at her almost instantly as she entered the door to his house. He told her she was loud and needed to start coming home at normal hours, instead of keeping Leandra up worrying. Hawke gave half-hearted apologies, but could only do so through yawns, making them sound even more insincere.

“And by the Maker, I am not your personal message-taker,” Gamlen added. “You’ve a stack of letters on the desk over there. I suggest you answer them soon, I think a couple of them were from Athenril.”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

“Um, uh, it...the outside looked like her handwriting,” Gamlen said defensively.

“Ugh,” Hawke sighed, rubbing her temples. This was too much of a headache after the day she’d had. “Alright, from now on I’m checking in more often, just to make sure you quit reading my mail.”

“I just wanted to be sure it was nothing dangerous,” Gamlen said.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. I’m going to sleep,” Hawke said. She walked into the room that her sister shared with her, and shut the door behind her. She would never be in a state for dealing with Gamlen, but right now she was even less prepared for his antics. Sarah Hawke ruffled Bethany’s hair before lying down on her own bed—which was more of a cot with a pillow and too-small blanket—and trying to get some shut eye.

She didn’t stay asleep long. When she awoke, she didn’t remember her dreams in the Fade. This was one thing she did envy Bethany for. Being able to walk with more clarity in the mysterious other world as she slept sounded wonderful. If not for the demons, it would be completely pleasant.

Sometimes, Hawke was lucky enough to come away with little pieces of a dream. She would remember a smell, or a place she saw, or a stranger she met, though she’d only be able to describe these things vaguely. Remembering pieces of something happy was better than remembering the whole of her nightmares. Those still visited sometimes, but far less frequently.

“Hello sister. How did you sleep?” Bethany asked.

“I’m not sure, what year is it?” Hawke said with a stretch and a yawn.

“Very funny,” her sister said. Bethany rolled her eyes. It was a habit she’d picked up because when you’re related to Carver and Sarah, you need something to show how fed up you are with their bullshit. Leandra would deny it, but she also rolled her eyes frequently.

Their mother was out doing menial labor, as usual, to bring in a little extra coin. Hawke wished she could provide for the family so her mother didn’t feel the need to take on small jobs anymore. Kirkwall was dangerous, nothing like the quiet Lothering or other villages the Hawke siblings had grown up in. There was no telling what new danger would be lurking around the corner.

That day, they were on Aveline’s job, as promised. She was more dutiful than Hawke, who might let a job go for a few days before taking care of it proper. This was a job that couldn’t wait, for the sake of people’s lives. Hawke thought about bringing Anders along, since she wanted to get to know him better, but Bethany was already gearing up with her staff and a couple vials of lyrium.

“Alright, we’ll go find Aveline at the barracks in a minute, I just want to be sure Gamlen didn’t take any coin from my letters,” Hawke said, waving a hand at her sister.

“Even if he did, he’ll probably gamble it away and he won’t pay you back,” Bethany said. She was itching for more adventure. Hawke wished she hadn’t started bringing her along on missions for Athenril, because now she had a taste for the life that Hawke was used to. The fights and blood ended up a siren call for the Hawke siblings. The eldest never felt too comfortable with the twins rushing headlong into danger. Now Hawke only had one of them left.

“But at least I can guilt him enough that he’ll stop bothering mother about money for a week,” Hawke said. Even that much was optimistic, but she never tired of tormenting her uncle.

There was a weird letter that appeared to be leaking some sort of substance that Hawke prayed was not toxic. It said it was an invitation to a store, but Hawke wasn’t sure she wanted to go to any shop that sent letters with mystery gas coming out from them. There were a few from home as well. Lothering was long gone, but a few friends had escaped to Denerim or Redcliffe. Most of those were addressed to Bethany. At the bottom, like Gamlen had said, was a letter from Athenril. Perfect.

Hawke nearly tossed it away without even reading it. Why associate with this woman anymore? She was free, and now she had Varric and the expedition to work on. They didn’t need her coin, or that of her associates. Curiosity got the best of Hawke, in the end, so she opened it.

“Bethany…” Hawke began, walking the letter to her sister. “Apparently Athenril suggested us for some job. A dwarf named Anso, supposedly very good pay. What do you think, should we do it?”

“You’re asking me?” Bethany said.

“I could do it without you,” Hawke said. “Get the coin, leave you uninvolved if that’s what you want. But I figured you should know about it, at least.”

“Does she mention what we’d have to do?” Bethany asked, moving so that she was beside her sister to see the letter.

“No, but it probably involves illegal activity again,” Hawke said. “Nothing we haven’t done before, I’m certain.” She grinned at her sister, but Bethany was not amused.

“It isn’t working directly for her, I suppose,” Bethany said, crossing her arms as she mused. “And you say you’ll do it with or without me.” She shot a pointed look at Hawke as she said this. “I’d rather be with you and keeping you out of trouble than letting you run off on your own. And no, being with Varric and Aveline would not count.”

“I could bring Anders along, too,” Hawke said.

“Wait, the mage from yesterday?”

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you but he offered to help out. Oh and there’s...I should probably let him explain the whole thing with the turning blue and glowy,” Hawke said, scratching the back of her head. Bethany looked exasperated.

“No. I will go with you. Respond and let her know we’ll do it,” Bethany said.

Hawke nodded, watching her sister walk out the door ahead of her. Their lives could never be simple, or involve ordinary people, it seemed. At least it kept things interesting. Hawke tried to convince herself that interesting meant good things, meant they were never bored. She found some parchment and ink, and wrote a quick response. They would meet with this Anso character in a couple of days, at night in Lowtown. That gave Hawke a bit of time to see what information she could pick up on Anso.

Hawke found a boy she knew ran messages through the Undercity, and offered him ten silver to make sure the message got to Athenril safely. He bowed, then ran off like he had a mabari chasing him. For now, Bethany and Hawke let the message leave their minds to go help Aveline.


	3. Fell for It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's here B)))

“Did you _see_ the googly eyes she gave Donnic when we found him?” Hawke said, laughing. It was just her and Varric out in the Hanged Man tonight. Aveline was busy planning on what to say when she revealed the Guard Captain’s corruption the next morning, and Bethany was already home in bed.

“I was hoping it wasn’t just me,” Varric said. He took a swig of ale. “Gives me an idea for a story, though.”

“Varric, no, Aveline will kill you if she knew you were making up stories about her,” Hawke warned. But she couldn’t stop grinning, because Hawke knew whatever story Varric would tell would be simply amazing and that she wanted to hear every word.

“She doesn’t have to know who inspired it,” Varric said. “Besides, I take offense to the phrase ‘made up.’ I prefer ‘embellished’ or ‘improved.’”

“Improve all you like, just make sure she never catches on,” Hawke said.

She snapped to attention in an instant when someone came close. Anders jumped back a little himself, not anticipating this reaction. He gave a small wave and Hawke relaxed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Anders said.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I’m just jumpy from the adrenaline. And I wasn’t expecting any more company tonight,” Hawke said. “Oh, not that I mind, of course!”

Anders laughed, and Varric ordered him a pint as a way of welcoming him to their odd little group. Anders settled in a seat between the other two, and a barmaid slammed the drink down in front of him. He made the common mistake of a first timer in the Hanged Man and took a large gulp, which he nearly emptied back into the mug. Instead, he choked it back like a champ, though not without a hideous facial expression as he swallowed.

“Maker, what is in this stuff?” Anders gasped, staring at it to see if it was actually ale-colored. It looked like ale, sure, but it tasted nothing like it.

“All of your dead hopes and dreams,” Hawke said.

“It’s better if you don’t ask,” Varric added. He clapped Anders on the back. “Welcome to the club.”

They spent the night swapping some stories, mostly interested in what Anders had to say about Amaranthine and the Warden Commander. Anders didn’t drink any more of the ale, and neither Varric nor Hawke blamed him for that decision. At a point, Hawke convinced him to open up about the whole “technically I’m an abomination but not really” thing, which Varric was surprisingly cool with.

“As long as this Justice is on our side, I don’t mind. Though I hope his moral standards aren’t _too_ high, considering,” Varric said.

Anders blinked, looking like he was confused about something. “Hawke seems to care about doing the right thing. Justice and the law should be the same thing, but we understand that often that is not the case. I trust her to do what is right, for mages, and for everyone else.”

Hawke brushed a bit of hair behind her ear. “You barely know me,” she said quietly.

“I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character,” Anders said with confidence.

Varric looked between the two of them, then ordered another round. Maybe they couldn’t get Anders to drink, but Hawke probably needed a few more in her. Whatever got them over this awkward hump. Ale was a simple—though inelegant—solution.

“I still don’t feel like I thanked you properly for what you did for Karl,” Anders said. He got so quiet whenever the subject of his friend came up. Hawke placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“No need,” she insisted. “I think I’ve got some time tomorrow, if you’d like me to show you where we...where we buried him.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Anders said. He flashed blue for a moment, then cringed. “Do you mind if we talk about something else? I know I brought it up but it’s hard to think about it without Justice getting worked up.”

“Want to hear about how Flemeth saved us from the Blight?” Hawke offered.

“You’re joking,” Anders said. He was smiling now, and Hawke was pleased. The story made for a good distraction.

“Varric’s already heard this one, but—”

“Hawke,” Varric interrupted, “I need to make sure I know which parts to exaggerate when I tell other people. Hearing it again never hurts.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but got into the story. She always hurried past the bit with the ogre, the vision of her nightmares too vivid for her liking, but Anders and Varric hung on every word. The best part was watching Anders when she first mentioned the dragon, swooping in and saving them all before transforming into an old woman with hair like horns. At the end, Hawke reached into a pouch on her belt, producing the amulet she still had to take to the Dalish.

“They’re supposed to be near Sundermount. I’ve been unable to go while I worked for Athenril. Now I just have to decide when to do it,” Hawke said, staring at the amulet. “It doesn’t seem like a great idea to keep an all-powerful dragon witch waiting for long.”

After telling the story, Hawke made a mental note to move that up towards the top of her to-do list. The longer she waited, the more there was a possibility for the witch to become angry. She put the amulet away while her companions agreed that maybe it was a good idea to get on that task as soon as possible. Regardless, the story served the purpose of distracting Anders.

They said goodnight soon afterwards, Varric slipping upstairs to his room and Anders disappearing as he headed towards Darktown. Hawke only had a short walk to get to Gamlen’s place.

She wondered why she never really saw her uncle at the Hanged Man, for proximity’s sake alone. He also did like his drink, so it seemed like he should be making more frequent appearances at the local tavern. There weren’t many good places to go and get wasted in Kirkwall. The only other place that Hawke knew of was The Blooming Rose, which was more of a brothel with a bar attached than a tavern. Though she didn’t want to picture her uncle there, she admitted to herself it was a likely possibility.

✖✖✖✖✖

The next day, Hawke returned a couple of lost objects she’d found, earning a little bit of silver for the deed. She tried to remind herself of what Varric had said. It was a little more silver than she’d had the day before. The goal of fifty sovereigns seemed like a pipedream, but Varric kept her encouraged.

“Maybe next we take out some of the gangs that lurk at night. I know for a fact there are people out there who would pay for their disposal,” Varric suggested.

“It’s not a terrible idea. Now that Aveline is on her way to being made Guard Captain, maybe…” Hawke said, looking hopefully at her red-haired friend.

“Hawke, the guard does not have the money to hand out to vigilantes. Not even if they are helpful,” Aveline scolded, shaking her head.

“Worth a shot,” Hawke said with a shrug. “Anyway, I’m off to see Anders at the clinic. Remember to be at Lowtown tonight for that job.”

“Just remember that if it’s illegal, I was never involved,” Aveline insisted. Her cheeks puffed a bit whenever she got mad. Hawke and Varric agreed that it was adorable, but they had to never ever tell Aveline that they noticed. Otherwise, she’d make a serious effort to stop.

“Whatever you say, captain,” Hawke agreed, winking. Aveline groaned, but Hawke was already on her way to Darktown. Bethany had offered to come with her, but Hawke wasn’t sure Anders would want a crowd for this. It was a personal thing and even Hawke felt like she was intruding by bringing him there. Though without her, he wouldn’t be able to find the gravesite, so someone had to do it.

Anders was hard at work in the clinic. Hawke had to wait while he saw to a couple of patients, but she didn’t mind. She could probably sit there for hours, watching the green glow that could knit together skin and bone to heal even the most painful wounds. He handed off a salve to the last patient, then snuffed out the lantern outside, so people would know he was out. Anders looked a little fidgety as they started to leave.

“We won’t take long, if you’re worried people will need you here,” Hawke reassured him. Anders turned back to face her.

“I know. I’m not too worried about that. I need to rest after all that anyway, to replenish my mana,” Anders said.

Hawke nodded. She didn’t mention how anxious he looked, since he didn’t seem to want to concern her. Instead, she charged forward, leading him through Kirkwall, out the gates, and towards a forested area. Further down the path they’d taken was the way to Sundermount and in the other direction was the Wounded Coast. Hawke rarely got out of the city, so this time Anders was acting the part of guide, telling her where things were.

“I thought you were Fereldan, not a Marcher,” Hawke teased.

“Actually I'm originally from the Anderfels, but time in the Circle gets very boring unless you like to read a lot. I didn’t like to read, but I did like to imagine all the places I’d go if I got out. So I studied maps and books on different regions. Especially ones about Kirkwall,” Anders said.

“Did you know you’d wind up here?” Hawke asked, kicking a rock along a path. She didn’t notice his expression fall.

“Not at first,” he told her. “But when the Kirkwall Circle required ‘new talent,’ they took Karl. I’d always wanted to escape but after that; I was determined to follow him here.”

“You must have been really close, to go that far for him,” Hawke said, hoping she sounded sympathetic. Anders slowed his pace, until he and Hawke stopped walking altogether.

“Would it shock you to know we were lovers?” Anders said.

“Oh,” Hawke breathed. She paused, hoping to find the right words. “I’m not sure if ‘shocked’ is the right word but, no, I didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t think that two men could be together?” Anders asked.

Hawke threw up her hands quickly. “No, no! Not that! I just hadn’t...you always called him your friend, so I didn’t think too hard about it. I don’t think gender matters much when it comes to love, personally.”

They stood silently, unable to look at one another. Both of them felt the need to apologize, not entirely certain why. Hawke was the first to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I understand a little better now. In your position I would have torn the whole world apart to get to someone I loved.”

“I have to apologize, as well. I didn’t mean to sound so defensive, you just never know…” Anders said. Then he smacked his forehead lightly and laughed. “But I should know better, shouldn’t I? I’ve known you only a few days and already you’ve been kind and selfless. To a stranger, no less.”

“Well, you’re hardly a stranger anymore,” Hawke said. She felt a heat rise in her cheeks. “Plus it wasn’t selfless, I needed the maps you had.”

“I never asked you to bury him,” Anders reminded her.

“But that was… I was making an assumption that you’d want that! It wasn’t my place and—!”

“Hawke,” Anders stopped her. “It’s alright. If you want me to think you’re selfish and terrible, then I will.” He was grinning, trying his hardest to hold in more laughter.

“It’s better that way,” Hawke sighed. “Less pressure.”

Anders nodded. “In that case, Hawke, you are the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“...don’t push it,” she warned. But she was smiling too, even as she pursed her lips.

When they reached the gravesite, the mood returned to something more somber. Anders had brought a few wildflowers they’d found as they walked, which he placed on the mound of dirt. There was nothing but a large stone Varric had found when they first dug the grave to mark the site. In a few years, the ground would grow over with grass, the rock would hold no significance to anyone in the area, and no one would understand why someone had carved a crude-looking “K” into it.

For Anders, it was more important than he could express. Hawke left him alone for a few minutes, to let him say a private goodbye. She would tell no one how she’d heard him cry. When Hawke finally returned, having circled the area for supplies or lingering bandits, she watched Anders take off a ring he’d been wearing, burying it in the soil.

“He gave that to me, ages ago,” Anders said, having heard Hawke’s approach. “It was supposed to hold an enchantment, but the Tranquil that made it said it was a dud. Karl took it instead and wore it, pretending like it had actually worked and made him more powerful than all of us. Only I knew his secret, that it never held an enchantment. He gave it to me when he left Ferelden.”

Anders rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, then stood back up. Hawke had nothing more to say, so she simply waited for him to take a last few moments, staring at the ground beneath him. At last, he told her quietly that he was ready to leave. Hawke nodded. She went first, letting Anders follow her down the path back into the city. The sun was beginning to set.

Hawke and Anders parted in Lowtown, just in front of Gamlen’s place. He thanked her again, asking her to stop by whenever she had a chance. Hawke was happy to see that her mother had cooked a stew for dinner, and it was still piping hot. Bethany handed her a bowl, and they ate together quickly, knowing there was still work to be done before their day was really over.

“Never do crime on an empty stomach, right sis?” Hawke whispered. Bethany giggled, gently elbowing Hawke in the ribs.

“ _Shh,_ we don’t even know that it’s anything illegal,” Bethany said, hoping her mother was too busy arguing with Gamlen again to notice what the sisters were saying.

“Oh yeah, because all reputable deals go down in the dark of night. My bad,” Hawke said.

Still, they weren’t going to mention that to Aveline. They were too busy trying to reassure her that the future Captain of the Guard was not involved in criminal activity. If it turned out that yes, she absolutely was helping them with something unlawful, they would change their tune and insist that they needed to do anything they could for a bit of coin. They were just glad Varric didn’t care either way.

Anso didn’t seem like someone meant for the life of crime. He leapt nearly three feet in the air when Hawke and her friends first approached. Someone that nervous was better suited to a quiet life as a tailor or a farmer. He didn’t even do a good job of keeping his job a secret.

“I was smuggling some goods, but now my suppliers refuse to give me what I paid for. If these templars don’t get what they’re owed, I’ll be in trouble for sure,” Anso told Hawke.

“So, you’re telling me it’s lyrium?” Hawke said, crossing her arms as she watched him squirm.

“Wh-who said anything about that?” Anso said, looking rather like a mouse that just got cornered by a cat. “Okay, fine, yes that’s what it is. But keep it quiet, alright? Just go to this address, in the Alienage, and take whatever is in the chest. If anyone gives you trouble, well, I don’t think I need to tell you what to do with them. In fact, I won’t, because that would make me implicit in _two_ crimes.”

“Smart man,” Aveline said sarcastically. She was definitely not pleased with the fact that she was involved with a smuggler. It didn’t help that it seemed this criminal was particularly dim-witted.

“As long as your coin is good, we have a deal. This shouldn’t take long,” Hawke said. She gestured with her head for the others to follow her. The Alienage was on the other side of Lowtown, since their meeting took place in the Market District. It would have been a quick stroll, but they were interrupted by some local groups of thugs. Hawke sighed and took to the shadows, readying herself for another fight.

Bethany was taking out as many of them as she could with fireballs, while Aveline charged in, pushing attackers off with her shield before cutting them down. Varric and Bianca, ever the perfect team, took out a number of the enemies thanks to his special explosive bolts. Hawke hoped she could convince him to show her how that worked later. Maybe she’d get exploding daggers?

Hawke tried to keep hidden as best she could, but forgot herself repeatedly and ended up walking away with more cuts and bruises. Bethany shook her head and hurried over to her sister as soon as the fight was finished, running healing magic over the wounds to ease the pain.

“Maybe I should have Anders along all the time from now on,” Hawke said.

Bethany frowned, making sure her sister saw the look of displeasure in her eyes. “Or perhaps you should simply be more careful when you fight?” Bethany suggested.

“I am!” Hawke insisted. With one look to Varric and Aveline, she knew she was fooling no one. “Okay, I’m not. But I’ll get better, I swear.”

“At least I know a couple basic healing spells,” Bethany said, sighing. “But I can’t do much more than heal small wounds.”

“Then it’s a good thing that’s mostly what I get,” Hawke said. No one was impressed by her flawed logic, but they didn’t bother to argue anymore. Trying to tell Hawke she was wrong was like trying to tell a brick wall to do, well, anything other than just to keep standing and being a wall. Hawke was impossibly stubborn and stubbornly impossible.

They made their way to the Alienage, where things were abnormally quiet. The closed community of elves suffered endless abuses, even being particularly targeted by street gangs in the middle of the night. No part of Lowtown was particularly safe, but the Alienage had an unfortunate association with added dangers. It should have been nice to see that no one was being mugged, robbed, or murdered, but instead it set the group with disquiet. Hawke looked back to the other three, making sure they were all on high alert. They all nodded in turn, determined not to be caught off guard.

They entered the tiny hovel where Anso’s lyrium stash was supposed to be, and made quick work of the people on guard. It didn’t seem like too much of a threat, though Hawke supposed the anxious dwarf would have actually had trouble with these poor excuses for criminals. Hawke and her daggers worked quickly, backed by the force of her team, then she went to find where the lyrium might be.

There was a chest off to the side that may as well have been marked “suspicious cargo inside.” Hawke cracked her knuckles, finding a flimsy lock attached to the thing. This was too easy. She picked it, chuckling as she thought that she could have done it with her eyes closed, but didn’t bother sharing this thought with the others. Their job was nearly done, but this was no time to act cocky.

Hawke threw open the box and froze. “Uh, Varric?” she said.

“Yes, Hawke?” Varric responded, stepping forward as he pocketed a bit of coin that one of the guards had been carrying.

“Do you know of any boxes that have secret compartments?” Hawke asked. The desperation in her voice was inescapable.

“Not on one like that, no,” Varric said.

“Bethany? Any spells of invisibility?” Hawke practically pleaded.

“Sister, what’s wrong?” Bethany said, even though everyone already knew the answer.

“There’s nothing here,” Hawke said. “The damned box is empty. Anso sent us on a pointless mission for an empty box. The Alienage was super quiet. And the guards were laughably weak. Is anyone else thinking…”

“That this has the word ‘trap’ written all over it?” Varric finished for her.

“And we fell for it like complete fools,” Hawke said. “I should have known. Let’s get out of here as fast as we can. I want some answers from Anso.” Hawke was cracking her knuckles.

“Let’s not kill the man before we have the whole story,” Aveline advised. “It might have been meant to fool him instead.”

Bethany nodded in agreement, but Hawke said nothing. She wasn’t a fan of being used. Hawke headed to the door outside, swinging it open with irate force.

The crowd gathered in a semi-circle outside didn’t surprise Hawke at all. She was already reaching for her daggers again, only catching a bit of what the woman in charge was saying.

“That isn’t the elf,” the woman spoke. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We were told to kill anyone that left that house. You made a bad choice getting mixed up in this.”

“And you made a bad choice setting a trap for me,” Hawke spat back. She kicked a smoke bomb into the fray, confusing a number of the enemies in front of them. Aveline rushed them, the weaker ones falling to her sword within seconds. Hawke disappeared into the rising fog and the shadowy dark, only to reappear with her blade in someone’s back.

Bethany was more attentive to her sister this time, reserving her mana to be sure she could heal Sarah at any time. If Hawke was determined to fight recklessly, Bethany would make it her mission to keep her safe from all harm.

Varric, on the other hand, was just having a blast. He fired bolt after bolt into each person that fell from the rooftops. Those ones were attempting to serve as reinforcement for those on the ground that Aveline and Hawke were taking care of. A number of them died before they even hit the floor.

“To the Void with you!” an enemy mage shouted. They’d not noticed him. Hawke and Aveline were lucky that he announced his presence, or they would have been struck by the lightning that shot from his hand.

“Bethany! Kill him please!” Hawke cried, then fell quickly back into the shadows. If he focused on her sister or Aveline, Hawke could get behind him and slice his throat before he had the chance to do any real harm.

Bethany, however, was reeling. Her sister had just drawn attention to her, while she was trying to stick to the defensive. What in the name of Andraste was Hawke _thinking_? Thankfully, Aveline was attentive as always.

Aveline banged her sword on her shield, bringing all eyes on her. “It’s me you want!” she said. She took a few hits, but managed to defeat all who engaged her up close. The mage, however, singed her armor badly, and the heat it gathered burned her skin underneath. Aveline masked a sound of pain as a warcry, then charged the mage.

Hawke was still in the shadows, just about to strike, but she was distracted for a moment. The mage’s robes were particularly luxurious. Anders didn’t wear anything even close to this, his feathered pauldrons being the fanciest he got. From head to toe, this enemy mage had fine furs and metals, and she could tell from the sheen of the fabric that the robe was fine silk. There was no way this guy was an inexplicably rich apostate.

In her distracted state, Hawke failed to notice her illusion had failed, and the mage was whipping himself around to strike her with the sharp end of his staff. Hawke flipped backwards, but was struck just afterwards with a spark of flames.

Hawke panicked, the pain of her burning skin becoming excruciating as the fire lingered. She threw the dagger in her right hand, with a silent prayer to the Maker that it would hit its mark. It sank into the enemy mage’s throat. He opened his mouth only to end up gargling, choking on his own blood. If that wasn’t enough, Aveline also ran up behind him, driving her blade through his heart.

Aveline removed her sword and let the man fall onto his side. With a deep breath, she wiped a bit of sweat from her brow before bending down to get Hawke’s dagger. There were no enemies left to fight, so they were safe for the moment, but not without some injury.

“I swear, Hawke, you were not made for melee combat,” Aveline scolded as she helped her friend up. Hawke had just managed to pat out the flame on her leather armor. “If you were one of my guard,” Aveline continued, “I’d send you back for basic training.”

“Thankfully I’m not a guard,” Hawke said, taking her dagger from Aveline. “I’d look terrible in the armor.”

“ _Hawke,_ ” Aveline warned, but Varric was laughing behind her, which made the threatening look on Aveline’s face look significantly less scary. She sighed, giving up, then simply pointed to Hawke’s armor. “Have that mended as soon as you can.”

“I will,” Hawke said. “But listen, I got distracted for a good reason this time. Did you notice what that mage was wearing?”

“Robes, yes. If you are going to make a joke about men in dresses, I’ve heard them all before, and none of them are good,” Aveline said.

“Some of them are good,” Varric insisted, coming up beside Aveline.

“No, Aveline is right. They’re all terrible, and a bit offensive,” Bethany said. She moved straight past the other two to get to her sister. “Maker, what am I supposed to do about that burn?”

“It’s fine, I’ll go to Anders’ clinic first thing in the morning. For now a basic spell ought to do the trick,” Hawke said. “But seriously, the mage. His clothes were way too—”

“You!” a strange voice shouted. The four of them turned to face a man whose face was beet red with veins popping out of his neck. “You may have bested some of our men, but you will not be able to defeat all of them. Lieutenant, everyone in the clearing, now! ” The strange man pointed dramatically at the small group.

After a moment, Hawke snickered. No one was coming. The man was fuming.

“I said attack them! _Now!_ ” he screamed.

Behind him, a wounded soldier stumbled in, blood spilling from his armor. He fell to the ground, reaching for the man. “Captain…” the soldier croaked. His body went limp.

“Your men are dead and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.”

An elven man had come down the steps behind the captain. Despite his small frame, his back supported a large sword, much like those that Carver used to wield. The most inescapable detail of all were pale white markings on his dark skin, starting from just below his lip and spreading out on his body. Hawke wondered just how much of him these marks covered, only able to see them where his outfit revealed bare skin.

“You will go nowhere, slave,” the angry man declared.

The elf’s markings lit up instantly, glowing a bright blue. He turned and grabbed the man with his left hand, sinking the other beneath the man’s armor like it was nothing but air. The elf pulled back with some force, letting the man’s body fall dead on the floor. The markings lost their glow.

“I am not a slave,” the elf said. Hawke couldn’t help but notice the deep, velvet sound of his voice. It almost distracted her from the fact that he’d literally reached into a man’s chest and crushed his heart. Almost.

“I apologize. I did not realize they would be so numerous,” the elf said. “I should explain myself. My name is Fenris, and these men were Tevinter slavers attempting to reclaim their property. Namely, myself.”

“Tevinter,” Hawke said, “that explains it!” Fenris, as well as her companions, appeared confused at her sudden enthusiasm. “I was trying to tell you guys, that mage was too well dressed for an average apostate. But Tevinter...that explains a lot. And now that I know they were slavers, I can have absolutely zero regrets about killing them all.”

“You said they were looking for you,” Aveline butted in, worried Hawke was still too excited about her discovery. “How did you know they would be here?”

“I must apologize for that as well,” Fenris said. “I told Anso to make sure the people he got were capable, so we did not simply send strangers to their deaths. It appears he chose wisely.”

“So you set this trap for us?” Hawke said. “Instead of just asking us to help?”

“I was not sure who I could trust. Kirkwall is a large city, and I have not met many in my travels who cared about anyones needs but their own,” Fenris explained.

“Fair enough,” Hawke said, satisfied. Given that earlier she’d been justifying the disregard for legalities for coin, she wasn’t exactly one to talk. “Next time though, seriously, just ask us. Everyone else does.”

“It’s true,” Varric said. “Earlier today we went all around Hightown looking for the owner of a pair of pants. Hawke will not rest until every article of clothing is where it belongs.”

Hawke flushed, wanting to punch Varric’s arm. She had only just met this Fenris guy and his impressions of her were between excitable nerd and pants vigilante. Not exactly the finest descriptions for someone on a first introduction.

“If that is true,” Fenris said, thankfully ignoring Varric’s comments for the moment, “then I will have to ask for your assistance once more. These men have been taken care of but my former master, Danarius, is somewhere in Kirkwall. I traced him to a mansion in Hightown. If we strike tonight, I can be free of him at last.”

“You mean killing more slavers?” Hawke said. “Count us in.”

She may have been seeing things, but there was almost the ghost of a smile on Fenris’ face just then.

“Meet me in Hightown, just by the Chantry. You may require a bit of time to regroup,” he said, glancing down at the singe on Hawke’s armor.

Great, now among her fantastic titles she could add “clumsy and flammable.” Though she supposed the second half would go without saying.

Fenris left them behind, hurrying towards Hightown. Hawke had no idea why he didn’t simply travel with them. It would take some time yet before they could earn this elf’s trust.

“Let me see that, sister,” Bethany commanded, moving Hawke’s arm to see the burned armor. With a glow of green, she eased the pain of the burnt flesh beneath it, but Hawke could still feel stinging. She would have to see Anders for sure. Bethany healed what she could of the rest of them, then popped one of the vials of lyrium she kept, just for emergencies. She must have really exerted herself to actually use it.

“You sure you’re good to keep fighting?” Hawke asked. It was her fault that Bethany needed to heal them so much tonight. If she really was too weak, Hawke was certain a run by Darktown wouldn’t take too long. Sarah knew another mage who could help.

“I’ll be alright, sister. Just...you be careful for the rest of the night,” Bethany said.

“I will, I promise,” Hawke said.

Bethany laughed, and said, “No you won’t. But at least you sounded sincere this time.”


	4. Out of Reach

Though she approved of the current mission, Aveline parted ways with the group as they were passing the Keep. She had helped take care of lingering thugs on the streets of Hightown, but decided to leave rather suddenly. Hawke raised an eyebrow and frowned.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Hawke asked.

“You can handle this, Hawke. I know you can,” Aveline said, but knew this was not enough of an answer for her friend. “I need to file reports on the events that have taken place tonight, since I was involved. If there are more slavers in Kirkwall, the Viscount will want to know. I won’t mention Fenris or the reason we found them. The last thing I need is for people to believe I was involved in illegal activity. Especially after the whole debacle with Jeven.”

“I don’t know that the Viscount will be able to do much,” Hawke said. Still, she didn’t fight Aveline on leaving. Given Fenris’ odd abilities and giant blade, plus Bethany’s magic and Varric’s crossbow, they would manage without her. Aveline did have a lot on her mind with the position of captain looming over her head.

They found Fenris pacing at the top of a staircase. He stopped as soon as they approached. He seemed to check behind them, perhaps wondering where their other companion had gone, but said nothing of it. There were more important matters to attend to.

“I wasn’t certain you would come,” Fenris admitted, looking to Hawke.

“You should probably start learning to trust people who are helping you,” she said. “Some might take offense to that.”

“It is difficult to trust when you have met many who would sell you at the first opportunity,” he said. He pulled his lips to one side as if the bitterness of the statement left a taste in his mouth. “I feel I must warn you before we enter. My master is a Tevinter Magister. I cannot guarantee what we will be facing. He has likely summoned all manner of demons in an attempt to protect himself.”

“So, he knows you’re coming?” Hawke asked.

“Undoubtedly so,” Fenris said. “Are you prepared?”

“Just…he’s a maleficar?” Hawke said.

“As are all Magisters. It is not uncommon to use any means at their disposal to gain more power. Such is the way with mages,” Fenris said with a scowl.

Bethany visibly shrunk behind Hawke. This could mean trouble, but Hawke knew her sister wouldn’t leave her side even if Hawke insisted she ought to. Sarah just hoped that Bethany wouldn’t need protection by the end of the night.

“If you are prepared, then let us go. I will not allow Danarius any more time to escape,” Fenris said. He went ahead of the other three, who followed silently.

It wasn’t long after they’d entered the mansion when they were faced with a large number of Shades. Fenris had been correct in his assumptions. Hawke’s normal style of fighting didn’t work as well on these creatures, so she was forced to be more direct in her attack. They didn’t bleed like people did. After enough swipes with her daggers, however, they fell back into the shadows. Formless once more.

Fenris was very aware of Hawke’s presence the entire time they fought. There were no close calls, even with the large sweeping movements he made with his blade. He was brutal and strong, but still managed to be careful. Hawke almost felt like she was fighting with Carver again, and a part of her ached at this thought. Carver had never been anywhere near as careful as Fenris was being, but otherwise their styles were similar.

“Demons,” Fenris said. Every bit of him radiated with hatred. “Danarius! Come out! Your pets will not stop us!”

“Let’s keep going. That coward has to face us eventually,” Hawke said, leading the charge. She’d never thought she would make a great leader, but she always fell into the position with ease. No one ever argued about her taking the lead, either.

They faced more demons and even undead as they progressed. It seemed like there was no end to the monstrosities. Fenris glowed blue each time demons appeared and charged ahead to attack.

He was driven by rage, which was making him unstoppable for the moment, but Hawke wondered if he would not make the same mistakes she frequently did. All it took was being caught unaware for one moment and someone could take you down. Hawke made a mental note to apologize to her sister.

They reached the main hall, and charged up the stairs to open the bedroom door. As it opened, they heard the growl of a rage demon behind them. Varric fired a few quick shots at it, though it remained mostly unfazed. A large number of Shades also popped up beside it. Hawke was drawing her daggers again as Bethany cast ice spells to freeze the monsters in their tracks. Fenris could clearly see her do this, but said nothing for the moment.

He bolted ahead with his blade as Hawke attempted to stun another group of Shades further ahead to give him an opening. She cut into them, and bit by bit they weakened until they faded into nonexistence.

It was a long fight. The Shades felt endless, but Hawke kept driving her daggers into them until her arms were sore and screaming from the strain. Fenris’ breath was heavy as well, but he lifted the heavy sword he held above his head, bringing it down one final time and destroying the rage demon for good.

The sword sunk straight through the now formless demon, and met the ground with a crack. The tile split where the steel made contact. Fenris was still breathing hard, but Hawke was impressed by the force of that swing.

Fenris lifted the blade from the ground, putting it on his back again. He climbed the stairs, sparing only the slightest glare at Bethany as he passed her. Hawke followed close behind, her shoulders tense. They reached the top to see what they already knew confirmed.

“Gone,” Fenris said. “I...need a moment. I assume Danarius left some treasures behind. Help yourself to them, I have no need of it.” Then he left them behind to get some air.

“Hey Hawke,” Varric said, “I’m not sure he liked that Bethany is a mage.”

“I’m aware of that, Varric,” Hawke said. She was trying to tell her body to relax, but she was worried.

Bethany had done nothing but help. Hawke had even seen Bethany cast a few stealthy spells of healing when Fenris took a few too many hits. Hawke didn’t know him well enough to trust that he wouldn’t threaten her sister. She _really_ didn’t want to fight Fenris, but if it came to that…

“Let’s see what’s been left behind. Maybe we can even find a hint as to where his former master went. I’m sure Fenris could appreciate being able to hunt that asshole down,” Hawke said.

Varric nodded. Bethany was silent.

They found no sign of Danarius’ whereabouts, but the man had left behind a large amount of coin and some valuable-looking jewelery. Forget “a few silver more.” This was a few sovereigns. Even without Anso’s coin, this turned out to be a great help towards their goal. Hawke managed to pick anything that was locked to get a little extra. They gathered themselves, Bethany casting a quick spell to ease the pain in Hawke’s arms, then headed back towards the door.

Fenris was right outside, leaning against the wall. Hawke half-expected him to have just left. He had no reason to linger any longer. Hawke was glad to see him still there, though she didn’t really know why. She told herself, and the rush that ran through her stomach, that she ought to be more worried about Bethany.

“I should have realized sooner what you were. I saw you cast spells inside,” Fenris said, looking past Hawke at Bethany. He refixed his gaze on the elder sibling before he continued. “You understand the danger she poses, do you not?”

“Bethany is my sister. I trust her with my life. Quite frequently, actually. She is nothing like Danarius,” Hawke said. She was making a point of remaining between Fenris and Bethany. If he wanted to get to Hawke’s sister, he’d go through Hawke first.

“That is what they all say, but I have seen it too many times to believe it. You make a mage desperate, and they turn to blood magic,” he said. His voice was so low now, it was nearing a growl.

“I trust Bethany,” Hawke repeated. “She is stronger than the temptation of a demon.”

“For your sake, I hope you are right,” Fenris said. “I...probably seem ungrateful. For this, I apologize. Anso promised you payment, so here. This is all the coin I have.”

“I’m not sure I can accept that,” Hawke said.

“You completed a job, you are expected to be paid,” Fenris insisted.

Hawke took the coin, but the weight of it came with the added weight of guilt. “What will you do now?” she asked to move past the awkwardness.

“I’m not sure. I suppose I will stay in Kirkwall, at least for now. Danarius may be gone, but he will no doubt be back eventually. In the meantime, I offer my sword in service to you. I’m sure someone like yourself has plenty of other jobs that require someone who knows how to fight,” Fenris said.

“There is the expedition. Lots of darkspawn that need taking care of in the Deep Roads,” Hawke said, glancing back at Varric. “But...there won’t be a problem with working with mages?”

Fenris paused. “There is more than one?”

“Just one more, and he’s harmless,” Varric chimed in. “Well…mostly.”

“I have not yet met a mage that is harmless,” Fenris said. “But I suppose it is better that I remain close to keep them from bringing harm.”

“If that helps you sleep at night, sure,” Varric said. Hawke shot him a look, but she was too tired to argue one way or another.

“We would appreciate the help, then,” Hawke said.

“In that case, I am your man,” Fenris said, with a slight bow.

Hawke could feel a warmth in her cheeks, but wasn’t sure if the blush she knew was there was too visible. Maker, what was wrong with her? Of all the times to become embarrassed, this was not supposed to be one of them.

Fenris left them behind for the time being, deciding to hide out in the empty mansion. Hawke wondered if she should offer to help clean, having seen the messy state the estate was left in, but it was late and she surely wasn’t the only one who wanted to sleep. She’d drop by sometime soon to offer assistance.

It would serve as a good “Sorry I was suspicious about you, I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t kill my sister” gesture. Or if not those words exactly, at least it would show that Hawke appreciated his willingness to help, regardless of how he felt about mages. Given what little she knew of Danarius and of Fenris himself, it wasn’t like his opinions were without reason.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke went to Anders first thing in the morning, though not without a stop by the closest armor merchant in Lowtown. She was in casual wear for the time being, though not unarmed. Hawke planned on changing into a brand new set of armor once she was in Darktown, knowing that Anders had some private spaces off to the side she could make use of. Before she changed, however, she would show Anders the burn on her side to see what could be done about it.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke,” Anders said. “What in Andraste’s name were you doing last night?”

“Oh, you know, fighting slavers, some mages from Tevinter, and a few demons. Same old, same old, right?” Hawke said.

“Now I’m even more concerned,” Anders sighed. He pointed to a crate for her to sit at while he got a healing salve. “You should have taken me with you. I could have healed this immediately.”

“I thought Bethany did a fine job of healing me,” Hawke said.

She made a point of not mentioning Fenris, who Anders was sure to dislike. And...there was one more reason not to bring up Fenris. She’d noticed it when she’d spoken with her sister earlier. Saying his name made Hawke feel a little tingly. It would be easier to not talk about him if her thoughts would leave the subject, but alas, her mental faculties were fixated on the man.

Anders was a hesitant as he sat beside Hawke, the jar of salve in his hands. She had already lifted her shirt partway, just enough so he could see where the burn had been left. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than they should have, before scooping up a bit of the cream with the tips of his fingers. Anders touched Hawke’s side, rubbing the salve directly onto the burn. She squirmed, making a hissing noise through her clenched teeth.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about the stinging,” Anders said quickly, retracting his hand.

“No, it’s fine,” Hawke said. “You were right before. You should have come with us.”

Anders was gentler after that, which was impressive, considering how soft his touch had been. Hawke relaxed against his fingers as the stinging dissipated, and the burn was soothed. Anders drew his hand away from her as if her leaning was much more sudden and had shocked him. Then he wiped the slight excess of the cream onto the front of his robes, his motions stiff and hasty.

“That should do it,” he said. “With luck, it won’t even leave a lasting mark with this salve.”

“That would be nice,” Hawke said. “Not that anyone would see it under all my armor, but still.”

“Surely there is someone who wants to take that armor off of you at some point,” Anders said. An undeniable flush rose up his neck and into his cheeks. “You are a beautiful woman, Hawke.”

“Thank you, Anders. But no, there have been no offers of _that_ sort, lately. At least, none that I would consider. Though, if Varric suggested a tumble, I may just have to say yes,” Hawke joked. She would admit to no one that it was only partially a joke, and that she sometimes thought about Varric and his manly chest hair at inappropriate moments.

“Truly? No one? I find that hard to believe,” Anders said. Internally, he was telling himself to stop, as was Justice.

“It’s true,” Hawke said. “I’m going to go back over there to change. Make sure nobody tries to get a peek?”

“Of course, Hawke,” Anders said. He tried his hardest not to imagine her undressing. It had crossed his mind before, when she was not around. The silent lecture running in his head only intensified. His life was too messy. He’d only endanger Hawke. It was best to let it go.

Hawke was quick, not leaving Anders in his own head for too long. The new armor was nice, and fit well, though she hated the color. Eggplant and taupe? What was the armorer _thinking_? The utility was more important than looks, but what she wouldn’t give for something that was a lovely emerald green. Or perhaps a red. Hawke could be flexible, sometimes.

“What do you think? I don’t look too ridiculous in this, do I?” she said, turning this way and that for Anders to see.

“It looks good, Hawke. Though I think it’s probably more important that it works well and keeps you from getting stabbed or set on fire,” Anders said. “Though I doubt any armor could actually stop you from finding danger.”

“Rude,” Hawke spat, “...but fair.”

Anders laughed and saw her off, insisting that she bring him along for whatever odd job she had next on her agenda. For the moment, Hawke was free and clear, but that was sure to change in an instant.

That instant being about an hour later, when Hawke stepped into the Hanged Man. She was looking for Varric, and instead saw that something of a scene had broken out at the bar. Not unusual for Lowtown’s favorite dive, but good entertainment. Hawke stood back, waiting to see if she needed to interfere. Normally she wouldn’t, but it was about five men against one woman, and Hawke wasn’t sure the woman could handle herself. The stranger proved very quickly that, yes, she certainly could.

“So, Lucky, is this worth dying for?” the woman said, pressing a knife ever closer to the poorly named man’s throat.

Hawke ran through a list of jokes in her head, trying to land on the best one. It was a difficult pick, but time was running short as the man and his crew ran out of the tavern. The mystery woman shook her head, took a large gulp of ale, and slammed down her cup. Something gave Hawke the feeling they could get along.

“I’m a bit disappointed, to be honest,” Hawke said, as she approached the stranger. “No, ‘Are you feeling lucky, Lucky?’ ‘Looks like Lucky’s luck has run out?’ Or how about, ‘For someone named Lucky, you sure don’t live up to your namesake.’”

The woman laughed, shaking her head. “Ooh, those were terrible. I like you,” she said. “The name’s Isabela. Would be Captain, but as I have no more ship, the title rings a bit hollow.”

“Sarah Hawke,” Hawke said. “But you can just call me Hawke.”

“Your name is a pun?” Isabela said.

“It’s a gift and a curse, I assure you,” Hawke said. Sometimes the humor of it got old, but it always came back around at some point. It was reason enough for her to go by Hawke, and just Hawke.

“Hah! Well I like it,” Isabela said.

“So, do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Hawke asked.

“Just a bit of business, that ended badly I’m afraid,” Isabela said, shaking her head. “Say, you look like you’re the capable sort. Perhaps you could help me with a little problem I have.”

“Why not? It seems every time there’s something to be done in Kirkwall, I’m the first to know. No one can do their own dirty work,” Hawke complained, though not seriously. For the moment, she was fine with being at everyone’s beck and call. Most of the time it granted more coin to line Hawke’s pockets. That was enough reason to get involved.

“It’s a wonder they can even get out of bed in the morning,” Isabela agreed. “Though usually my business is getting people _into_ bed.”

“I hope that’s not the problem you need help with. To be honest, you seem capable of succeeding in that area by yourself,” Hawke said.

It was hard to resist flirting with Isabela. Other women would not be as tempted to allow their eyes to wander over exposed cleavage or thick, powerful thighs. For Hawke, however, gender didn’t matter in terms of attraction. Hot was hot, and that was that.

“Oh, trust me, I am. What I need from you is unrelated. But play your cards right and we’ll see,” Isabela said with a wink. “Someone from my past has become quite a bother. I arranged a duel with the terms that, if I win, he leaves me alone. It would be easy enough but, I don’t trust that he’ll play fair. I need someone to watch my back, and even and odds that seem off-balance.”

“I think I could manage to watch your back,” Hawke said.

Isabela chuckled softly. “I’ll bet,” she said. “I arranged to meet Hayder—that’s the bastard’s name—in Hightown, after dark. Meet me there tonight.” And with that, the mysterious pirate woman left.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar,” Varric said, suddenly appearing.

“Varric! Were you eavesdropping?” Hawke asked, twirling around to see him.

“How else would I know what you’re getting up to? Wait until you come upstairs and tell me yourself? I think not,” he said. “So, new armor?”

“Oh, yeah. And Anders fixed me up, so I’m in fighting shape once more!”

“Yes but…eggplant and taupe?”

“It was the best set I could afford,” Hawke said with a frown. “I’m sure we’ll pilfer something off somebody we have to kill soon enough. Hopefully something just my size in an olive green. I think it could bring out my eyes.” She blinked rapidly to bring attention to her bright gold irises.

“I’m guessing you’ve not had a chance to check on the elf, yet,” Varric said, sliding a coin across the bar. The bartender nodded, returning moments later with a mug of ale.

“No,” Hawke said. She stared into space for a moment. “Do you think I should?”

“It couldn’t hurt. He swore his sword to you and everything. Very knightly,” Varric teased.

“He’s far from being a knight,” Hawke said. “I suppose we should get to know him better, though. If he’s going to fight with us. It’s just that Fenris is...well he’s a bit...intimidating.”

“I find it hard to see you being intimidated,” Varric said, arching a single brow.

“Maybe that’s the wrong word. But I’m not even sure what I’d say. ‘So you were a slave, what was that like?!’ Not exactly the best ice breaker,” Hawke said morosely.

Varric shook his head. “Maybe just pretend he’s me?”

“I think I’d burst out laughing imagining his face on your body. Or vice versa. Then he’d think I’m a loon because I’m laughing at nothing.”

“Oh fine. Then…Aveline? Sunshine? Blondie?” Varric suggested.

“Maybe,” Hawke said, chin in her hands. She stole a swallow of ale from Varric’s mug. “I’ve still no clue what to say.”

“Then maybe save the chit-chat for later, and start out with a job,” Varric said, pulling his mug back out of her reach. “Bring him along tonight. I’m going too, of course. And your sister as well, I assume?”

“Actually Bethany wanted a few days off. But Anders kind of insisted that he come with so he could heal any new wounds as soon as I get them,” Hawke said.

“I can’t imagine the elf getting along with Blondie,” Varric said skeptically.

“Me either. But the sooner we introduce them, the sooner they can get to hating each other’s guts and getting on with their lives. It’s not like we can really keep them from meeting one another forever,” Hawke said.

“Why not? We could make a game of it, even,” Varric said with his infamous smug grin.

Hawke sighed heavily. “Let’s go let them know the plan. We’ll all meet in Hightown after dark. Lucky for Fenris, he’s already squatting in a mansion there, so he doesn’t have to go very far.”

Varric downed his ale, accepting that Hawke planned on dragging him around town again. Most of the time he liked tagging along anyway, but some days he just wished he could drink in peace before they had to kick more ass. The pair went to Darktown first, surprising Anders with a second visit.

“You didn’t hurt yourself already, did you?” he said, exasperated.

“Have some faith, won’t you? We’ve got a job. Tonight in Hightown. Meet there after dark?” Hawke said.

“Seriously, you work fast,” Anders said. “I already promised to keep you safe. I’ll be there.”

With that settled, Hawke and Varric took the long trip up to Hightown. Thanks to a few handy shortcuts, they usually managed to cut the time it would actually take in half. When entering the mansion, they were very careful not to draw too much attention to themselves. It was a good thing that both of them were good at sneaking around, making that a lot easier to accomplish.

They didn’t take two steps into the building before their noses wrinkled in disgust. The bodies had been left where they were before, and were already beginning to smell of rot and decay. There were other smells mixed into the smell of the corpses, but it was definitely the dead people that were most pungent.

It wasn’t just the bodies that were left in place, either. Every broken bookshelf, every smashed vase, everything that had been broken was left where it was. Hawke was amazed she didn’t spy bloodied footprints on the ground. Fenris didn’t wear shoes and there was plenty of broken glass to slice up someone’s tender toes. Varric appeared to be having the same thoughts, judging by his expression.

“You sure he’s still here?” Varric asked, pushing aside some debris with his foot.

“Where else would he have gone?” Hawke said. She moved forward, then stared up at the door to the master bedroom. It was slightly ajar. Hawke waved for Varric to follow her upstairs. Sure enough, Fenris was there.

“Hello,” Hawke said quietly. “I wasn’t even sure you’d still be here.”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of options,” Fenris said. “If Danarius wants his mansion back, he’ll have to come here and claim it.” The last few words were emphasized by the curl of his upper lip.

Fenris glanced at the door behind him for just a moment, then went back to whatever it was he was doing. He was looking over some things he’d found in the mansion, but Hawke had no idea what he planned to use them for. Or maybe he didn’t have a use in mind. It was possible it just staved off boredom.

“It’s true, this is still better than a dirty hole in Darktown,” Varric said, looking around. “Same amount of dead bodies lying around.”

“Speaking of, those are starting to stink,” Hawke said.

“I haven’t noticed,” Fenris said.

“You are making me hate my keen sense of smell,” Varric said, only half-joking.

“Anyway, we’ve got a job lined up tonight and thought you might want in,” Hawke offered.

“If you have need of me, I will be there,” Fenris said.

“Really? You don’t even want to know what we’re doing?” Hawke asked.

Varric elbowed her. Why question willing help? Okay, so there were reasons, but Hawke was kind of looking a gift elf in the mouth, here.

“If it is truly something questionable, it is not my place to criticize. For now I will trust in your judgment,” Fenris told her.

“And if you disagree with something we’re doing?” Hawke asked.

“I will be certain to let you know,” Fenris said. He was still busy staring at the seemingly random objects he’d assembled on the table in front of him. It was like Hawke and Varric were barely there.

“Alright then,” Hawke said, trying to ignore the weird frustration that reared its head. “I suppose that’s a fair arrangement. Meet us after dark, in the lower markets of Hightown. And, um, the other mage is coming so...just so you know.”

Fenris finally looked up at her. Hawke tried not to react, but felt her cheeks flare up as soon as she met his eyes. Something was definitely wrong with her.

“Do you wish my opinion on that as well, or would you prefer I said nothing?” Fenris said. It didn’t sound like he was offering his silence so much as looking for something in her reaction.

“You should speak your mind, Fenris,” Hawke urged. “But I would like it if you two were able to get along.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded. Apparently, this answer was satisfactory. Hawke knew for a fact that he wouldn’t like Anders, but if he at least made an attempt to be civil, it was a start. She needed both of them for their skills. Hawke also wanted both of them so that they could all be friends.

It wasn’t until Varric came along that she started feeling close to anyone besides her own sister. Even Aveline had kept her distance, too busy with guard duty to pal around with anyone. Hawke would convince Aveline to join them at the Hanged Man one night. Hawke wouldn’t rest until she had.

For the moment, Hawke and Varric went back to business as usual. Looking around town for any leads on work, then stopping by Gamlen’s for the same reason. Athenril was asking to meet. Hawke wasn’t certain she wanted to, but maybe it was worth finding out what she wanted. Better, at least, than refusing outright. Every other offer she’d gotten that day was insignificant. Not counting Isabela’s little dilemma.

What was more interesting was the argument that broke out between Hawke’s uncle and mother. Bethany and Sarah intervened, hearing their mother’s voice strain with rage. Apparently, their grandparents’ will had been left in a box at the old Amell estate, which they all knew Gamlen had lost ages ago. But until now, he’d been dodgy on the subject. This was the first time Hawke was able to coax an actual answer out of the man.

“Slavers?!” Leandra near-shrieked, inhaling sharply. “You let our family home, the place we grew up in, land in the hands of _slavers?_ ”

“I didn’t have a choice, Leandra. I had debts to pay off,” Gamlen said, visibly recoiling away from his sister.

“And you didn’t at least take your parents’ will with you?” Bethany asked.

“Your mother was gone for twenty five years. It’s not like I ever expected her to come back and need to read it,” Gamlen insisted. “Point is, the house is gone and the will is, too.”

Bethany looked crestfallen. She went back to the room she shared with Hawke and sat on the floor, back leaned against the wall. Hawke followed, sliding down next to her.

“We did already fight some slavers the other night,” Hawke said. “Maybe we should just have Fenris charge in and kill them all? Get the house back, and the will, if its still there.”

“Actually, it might be easier than that,” Bethany said. “Mother’s been telling me stories about the old house all day. Apparently there’s actually a passage through Darktown leading into the cellar of the estate. I got her to show me where and the entrance is right by Anders’ clinic. We could sneak in, undetected…”

“...and take the will right from under their rotten noses!” Hawke cheered. Bethany shushed her, not wanting Gamlen or Leandra to hear their plans. One or both of them might try to stop the Hawke sisters.

“Something gives me the feeling that there’s something on there Gamlen doesn’t want mother to see. I say we do it as soon as we can,” Bethany said.

“I’ll still invite Fenris along. Something tells me he would happily rip apart more slavers,” Hawke said.

“Just don’t go without me. I know you said you’ve something planned tonight, but whenever you go to do this, I need to be with you,” Bethany insisted.

“Sister, it’s a family matter. I wouldn’t dream of going without you,” Hawke said.

“Even if that elf doesn’t like me?” Bethany said, taking on an accusing tone.

“I…I take offense that you would even think I would leave you because of that!” Hawke said. “He just doesn’t know you that well.”

Bethany’s frown turned into a smile. She giggled and said, “You’re beginning to blush.”

“I am not!” Hawke declared, standing quickly. A bit too quickly, apparently, as she started to lose her balance. She managed to right herself, but now Bethany was falling onto her side laughing at her elder sister’s antics. “Oh, to the Void with you,” Hawke said, “I’m going to Hightown.”


	5. Disagreeable Mages

The night had been eventful, to say the least. Isabela was lively as a wildfire, and about as dangerous. She was very close-lipped about the man who was after her, Castillon, and the relic he was looking for. Hawke and her companions had found that rather suspicious, but didn’t bother asking too many questions. The deeper they got involved, the more trouble it was sure to bring. At least Isabela had been kind enough to offer a hand if they needed her.

But that wasn’t the only thing that had happened last night. Anders and Fenris had met, and Hawke was still dealing with the consequences of arranging that. It was loathing at first sight for those two. Now she was sitting in Anders’ clinic, watching him mix potions while going on a tirade about the elf. She was starting to regret stopping by, but there was a job out by the coast that seemed dangerous enough to require a healer.

“You have to understand, Anders, the mages he knew weren’t like the ones here. They were Tevinter magisters, with all the power and corruption of regular politicians,” Hawke tried to argue. “And he was a slave.”

“I know that, and it’s awful that anyone is subjected to that, but he really just allowed that to color his entire judgment? Surely he can see the difference. The mages in the Circle, they are like slaves. He should feel for them,” Anders said.

“You can’t tell someone how to feel,” Hawke said. It was getting harder to be patient as he went on. Plus her mind kept returning to other things that had gone on the previous night.

It hadn’t come to mind that Isabela’s flirtatious nature might direct itself any way the pirate pleased. It didn’t help that Fenris seemed impressed when Hayder mentioned that Isabela had freed people Castillon had meant to sell as slaves. It shouldn’t have bothered Hawke, but it did. The only reason she could think of to be upset was if she were jealous, but Hawke was living in deep denial that jealousy was at all a possible explanation for the sinking feeling in her gut.

“No, I can’t control people, because I’m not a blood mage,” Anders said with a scowl. “Not that Fenris seems to understand the difference. I mean, I’m a spirit healer! Of all the magic, I chose the school of creation, the most harmless of all. Still, he thinks me a threat. There is no winning. If I’m a mage, I’m evil. He should probably just sign up with the templars, he’d be happy there.”

The whole conversation, he’d been going in and out of flashing blue. This time he glowed almost the entire time he spoke, only cooling down when he heard Hawke’s soft plea.

“Don’t,” Hawke said. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

_Because when I think of templars, I tend to picture one killing my sister,_ Hawke thought.

“He’s not that bad. He doesn’t like mages, but it’s not like he wants to kill every one of them,” Hawke said instead, refusing to feel vulnerable in front of her friend.

“I didn’t get that impression. Quite the opposite actually,” Anders said. He was calmer, though his body remained tense.

“Can we just drop this for now, please?” Hawke said, shoulders sagging. “I need your help and I hate arguing over this. You know I’m on your side with the whole mage thing, right?”

“I do,” Anders said. “Which is exactly why the fact that you’re defending him confuses me.”

“He’s not like templars or sisters of the Chantry who were taught to hate mages ‘because the Maker said so.’ Fenris doesn’t trust them because of his experiences. It’s...it just seems like a more valid reason,” Hawke said.

“Someone’s reason to kill another person can be valid,” Anders said, “that doesn’t mean it’s not murder.”

Hawke groaned. “I am seriously done talking about this,” she said. “If you refuse to let this go, I’m going to see if Bethany will come with us.” She started to stand, but Anders was putting his potion mixing materials down and grabbing his staff.

“No,” he said quickly. “There’s no need.”

Hawke nodded, and started out. If Anders followed, that was up to him.

He did indeed go after her, and for the rest of the day, she didn’t hear another peep about Fenris. At least he’d gotten the message, for the moment. After the job was done, Hawke told Anders he was free to return to the clinic.

She needed Bethany for the next task, and it felt a bit silly to take two mages along. No, this time she needed muscle.

Bethany met Hawke in the Hightown markets, as promised, where they picked up Aveline and Fenris. Varric was apparently busy with something and Isabela…

Honestly Hawke was being a bit childish, only refusing to bring Isabela because she didn’t want to watch the pirate try flirting with Fenris any more. But she wasn’t jealous. Because that would be ridiculous.

Hawke hadn’t anticipated that when Bethany said it was “nearby” Anders’ clinic, she actually meant “pretty much right next to.” Thankfully, he seemed too busy with a patient to notice the group as they climbed up into the dirty tunnels that would lead into the Amell estate’s cellars. Bethany had asked Hawke before entering if they shouldn’t at least say hello, but Hawke shook her head.

“He’s busy, let him do his work. I’ll have plenty of meaningless tasks to bother him with later, I’m sure of it,” Hawke insisted.

Bethany didn’t really buy that, but let it go anyway. When Hawke was avoiding a problem, it was best to give her time to figure things out first. Unless Hawke took too much time, in which case it was necessary to storm into her room and demand that she get her stubborn ass up and do something about it. Since Anders was their only healer, Bethany hoped Sarah would be less stubborn this time around.

When the group ran into slavers trying to kill them violently, they knew they were in the right place. It was always so encouraging to meet another person that wanted to stab Hawke. It proved there would be no shortage of idiots whose coin she could pocket anytime soon.

“Were you even trying to hit me?” Hawke taunted, managing to slide out of the way of an attack. “I mean, at least give me a challenge.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be mocking the people trying to kill us, Hawke,” Aveline suggested.

Hawke stabbed the guy in the back, then kicked him down to slide her dagger out from him. He fell to the floor.

Another one charged at her furiously, yelling as he went. Hawke flipped backwards to—just barely—avoid his swing. Fenris took the chance, while the attacker caught his breath, to strike. His sword nearly cleaved the guy’s torso in half.

“Gross,” Hawke said, looking down at the guy whose guts were spilling out a little bit. “Kind of overkill, don’t you think?”

“No such thing,” Fenris countered. “If he was working as a slaver, he did not deserve a kind death.”

“Agreed, but still,” Hawke said, watching the man’s intestines unravel. “Gross.”

Even with Hawke’s wild manner of fighting, they dispatched of everyone who attacked with relative ease. It did seem like any time someone was getting too close to hitting Hawke, however, that Fenris was not far. He would take care of any immediate danger before they could cause her real harm. Though he did not do so without a slight scowl in her direction every time.

Aveline must have tipped him off. Usually it was her shield keeping arrows out of Hawke's back.

They got back the will, as well as a portrait of Leandra from when she was young. Bethany was still clinging to the image. There were no slavers left in the house, but it didn’t seem like the best idea to go out the front door into Hightown while coated in blood. Darktown and Lowtown citizens might be willing to turn a blind eye sometimes, but in Hightown, it was likely to upset.

Bethany did insist on asking Anders for a clean cloth to wipe the majority of the gore off, however. Hawke told her to go in alone. The other three took notice of that, but said nothing as Hawke walked over to the steps and sat down. She did, at least, have a small rag she kept with her to clean her daggers off.

Aveline remained just outside the clinic, pacing silently, but Fenris followed Hawke, standing above her. She didn’t look up or in any way acknowledge his presence, just wiping the blades clean before placing them in their sheaths on her back.

“I watched the way you fought in there,” Fenris said. “You take a lot of unnecessary risks. I didn’t notice as much before, but you did the same last night, and in Danarius’ mansion.”

“Isn’t it your mansion now?” Hawke said.

“I suppose, but you’re also trying to avoid the subject,” Fenris noted.

“And here I thought I was being so subtle,” Hawke said.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything,” Fenris said. “It’s not really my business. But the dwarf, Varric, I asked him if that was normal. He told me you’d sustained a bad injury the other night in the Alienage.”

“It’s healed pretty well now, actually,” Hawke said.

“Was it the work of that mage?” Fenris asked.

“Yes, Anders healed it. It’s why he wanted to come along more often, to keep me out of trouble,” Hawke admitted.

“You would likely benefit more from better training,” Fenris said.

“Because then I’m not relying on a mage?” Hawke said, hoping that wasn’t the point he was trying to make. She’d had enough of the mage’s rights drama for one day when she spoke with Anders. Hawke was not ready for more.

Fenris paused for a long moment, and Hawke was worried she’d been right. But finally he said, “No.” Fenris knelt down so he was more level with Hawke. “Because it is better to prevent getting hurt in the first place than to require treatment afterwards.”

Hawke was trying very, very hard to ignore the heat that rose in her face and the quickening pace of her heart. “Don’t tell Anders that,” she said. “He’d hate to be out of a job.”

Hawke expected Fenris to glare, or perhaps even roll his eyes with annoyance. But instead he actually smiled. It was faint, but Hawke was certain she’d seen it. Fenris stood up straight again, looking towards the clinic where Bethany appeared with a few cloths.

“Sorry I took so long,” Bethany said. “I had to reassure him that Hawke hadn’t impaled herself on something before he’d let me leave.”

“None of you have faith in me, really,” Hawke said, pretending to be insulted.

Sarah let the others clean themselves up first, since she’d already wiped down her blades and had the chance to clean her face. Some of the blood was now dried, so it wasn’t like a dry cloth would do much good anyway.

Bethany wet one of the rags with a bit of water from her pouch, so they could at least remove most of it and not look like they’d just been up front for a demonstration at a slaughterhouse. Actually, that wasn’t a bad excuse if they ever needed one.

✖✖✖✖✖

It was well beyond time for Hawke to take care of the mysterious task she’d agreed to do for Flemeth. It had been over a year, and that had been, at first, just because she’d been busy with jobs for Athenril. Now? Now Hawke had either been avoiding it, both on purpose and because she kept forgetting about it. She still carried the amulet everywhere. Finally, Varric brought it up while she was getting her ass handed to her at cards, and she knew she could ignore it no longer.

Aveline had been insisting since they entered Kirkwall that whenever Hawke went to Sundermount that she had to come along. Aveline had been a part of the deal, after all. It was only fair that she lend a hand.

Varric wanted to come for some story ideas, saying, “You are not going to see _the_ Flemeth without me. Especially since I was the one to remind you.” It was not easy to argue with Varric. Thankfully, Hawke rarely felt the need to.

Bethany had also wanted to come, but Leandra held her behind since they started reclaiming the estate. It seemed like their mother was finally starting to figure out just how dangerous the work they did was. Hawke wanted to argue that Bethany was capable enough to handle herself, but her mother was adamant. Better to let her have this one.

That left Hawke, swallowing her pride and stubborn nature, requiring a trip to Darktown. It had been a few days since their argument, and Hawke had wanted to make up with Anders anyway. But she felt kind of shitty going only to ask him for help, so she’d tried to make a bit of smalltalk before bringing up the amulet or Flemeth or Sundermount.

Anders looked relieved to see her, actually. Hawke supposed it wasn’t that strange. They were friends and it didn’t feel great when a friend was avoiding or ignoring you. Hawke’s stomach twisted with guilt.

“How goes the secret clinic?” Hawke asked, trying to act casual. She was slouching awkwardly and looking around, at anything but Anders. She was failing miserably at playing it cool.

“Since I’m still here and the place hasn’t been ransacked by angry templars, I’d say it’s good,” Anders said, pretending not to notice how strange Hawke was acting. “It’s good to see you.”

“Same,” Hawke said, then decided that sounded kind of dumb. “I mean, I feel the same way. It’s good to see you, because it’s been a while. Which is entirely my fault, and—”

“Hawke,” Anders said. He was used to gently cutting her off when she started nervously rambling. She seemed to breathe a little easier whenever he did that. “I’m sorry about the way we left things,” Anders said.

“Me too,” Hawke admitted. “I don’t like arguing with you, no matter the reason.”

“I agree, it’s awful. I’m sorry about how I acted,” Anders said. “It would be easy enough to just blame Justice, but honestly, Fenris just got under my skin. You’re right about him having his reasons, but he made it so personal.”

“And he doesn’t even know about the abomination thing, yet,” Hawke said, remembering that they hadn’t told him.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible,” Anders said. “What is with the glowing markings he has, though?”

“You know...I actually hadn’t asked him about it. I don’t know how or why he has them,” Hawke said.

“It just makes me wonder,” Anders said, “how he can use this strange form of magic and yet still hate all mages. How does he justify that?”

“Maybe there’s more to it than that,” Hawke said. “Whatever, for now I just wanted to say I’m sorry for not stopping by sooner and...I need your help again.”

Anders smiled. “I didn’t expect any less, Hawke,” he told her. “What would you have me do this time?”

“You know that whole story with Flemeth and the amulet I told?” Hawke said.

“Hard to forget it,” Anders said.

“Well...we’re going today. To Sundermount. Varric and Aveline are already waiting for me near the exit out of the city. Or, well, us, if you agree to come,” Hawke said.

“Let’s not keep them waiting any longer, then,” Anders declared.

They walked together until they met with the other two, and even then stopped only to make sure everyone was prepared to leave. Sundermount was not too far from the city, but it was still a fair enough journey that it required some preparation. They had food, mostly bread and a bit of cheese, but Varric had also brought along a bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit.

“I’m thinking of calling it ‘trail mix,’ because it’s good for eating when you’re on a trail,” Varric said. “Or perhaps that’s too straightforward.”

“It could use some chocolate,” Hawke said, a craving suddenly striking her.

“Why would someone want all of that mixed together?” Aveline questioned. “Seems like you’d just have to spend a lot of time eating around the bits you don’t like.”

“Then don’t put in bits you don’t like,” Varric suggested. “It’s a recipe that everyone can adjust to their personal preferences.”

“Can it really be called a recipe if it’s just throwing things in a bag?” Anders said.

“You’re forgetting the important step of shaking the bag so it all mixes together,” Varric said. “That’s the mix part of ‘trail mix.’”

They kept walking, eventually a bit too tired to talk and running out of conversations. Thankfully, they were near the Dalish camp when this happened. Hawke had been letting herself fall behind a bit, but charged ahead to the front of the group again at this point. The two elves guarding the entrance straightened and stood stiffly as the group approached.

“Halt, this land is claimed by the Dalish,” one of the guards said. “State your business here, _shem_ , or leave.”

“I’m here to see your Keeper. I’m supposed to deliver this to her,” Hawke said, holding out the necklace for the two guards to inspect it.

“What, you think you can just stroll up and ask to see—”

“Hold on, the Keeper said something about someone coming with an amulet. I just expected it to be an elf,” the male guard said. The woman did not look pleased, but did not bother to argue.

“Fine,” she said. “Enter if you must, but remember that you are a guest here. And be quick about your business.”

Hawke nodded. She wondered what Fenris thought of the Dalish. They believed themselves more free than the elves in cities. Perhaps he could have found peace among them. Or maybe he’d find their customs ridiculous.

The Keeper was easy to spot. The group went right to her, seeing no need to speak with the others, who mostly sent suspicious looks and glares their way.

“I was told you were expecting us?” Hawke said. “My name is Hawke, and I was supposed to give you this.” She handed over the amulet, hoping that would be all there was to it.

The Keeper studied the thing, but then passed it back to Hawke. “Yes, you have been sent by _Asha’bellanar_. I have long awaited your arrival here. I am Keeper Marethari,” she said.

“How did you know we were coming? And who is Asha...Asha…”

“ _Asha’bellanar_. Our name for the one I believe you call Flemeth. They are one and the same, and both names carry great power. I also did not know that you would come, not with complete certainty. But I had a strong feeling, almost a premonition, and thought to tell my clan. It appears that my feeling was correct, since you are now standing here,” Marethari said. “I am afraid I must apologize, however, as your task is not yet done.

“I need you to carry the amulet up the mountain, to an old location sacred to the elvhen. There you will perform a Dalish ceremony over it. Or perhaps I should say, my First will perform it for you. Her name is Merrill, and she’s waiting just a bit further up the path there,” she said, pointing behind her.

“I knew it couldn’t be that easy,” Hawke said.

“I must ask one more task of you, if you will hear it,” the Keeper said. “When you are done here, and return to your city, take Merrill with you.”

“Excuse me?” Hawke said.

“I know that seems like an odd request to make, but it is not mine, it is Merrill’s. She has decided to leave us and I must respect that decision,” Marethari said.

“I suppose that’s not a problem,” Hawke said, though she glanced nervously back to her companions, looking for input. They appeared to be just as confused. “Oh, and my name is Hawke. I almost forgot to mention that.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Hawke. I just wish it was under different circumstances,” the Keeper said. “I shall not keep you any longer. You’ve a task to attend to. Please, take care of Merrill.”

They were a few paces away from the encampment when Aveline spoke up, “Okay, please tell me I’m not the only one who found that very weird.”

“Definitely not alone, there,” Anders agreed.

“What he said,” Varric agreed.

“She wants us to take one of her own away? I know she said that this girl wanted it herself, but I thought the Dalish stuck together like a family,” Aveline said.

“Family members can fight and break apart,” Hawke pointed out. “For example, I would tell strangers to come and take Gamlen away, if I could.”

“If you really want that, Hawke, I know a few people who could arrange it for you,” Varric joked.

“Don’t tempt me,” Hawke said.

It was not long before they saw another elf, crouched over. She seemed to have had something in her hands, but when she turned to face them, there was nothing. She smiled, already appearing to be friendlier than all the other Dalish in the camp.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you there, hello. You’re the ones the Keeper told me about aren’t you? _Aneth ara_ ,” Merrill said.

“And you must be Merrill,” Sarah said.

Merrill looked so childlike. She had a fairly small face, contrasted with large, round eyes. They had an emerald color to them, which looked a little darker than Fenris’ in Hawke’s opinion. Perhaps that was just a trick of Merrill’s much paler skin. She also had tattoos all over her face, but they didn’t seem to be the kind that glowed. As far as Hawke knew, Fenris was the only one with that ability.

Merrill was also short and slender, adding to the youthful look she had. Hawke couldn’t decide if it was the fact that Merrill looked young or the innocent way she smiled up at them that made Hawke want to hold her close and protect her at all costs. Either way, the urge to do so was strong.

“Ah, I see the Keeper told you about me. How much did she mention, exactly?” Merrill said, an almost frightened look in her eyes.

“Not much. She said that you’re going to help us, and then come back to Kirkwall with us,” Hawke said. “She also mentioned that it had been your choice to do so.”

“That’s correct,” Merrill said.

“I didn’t think that there were any Dalish who ever left their clans,” Aveline commented, repeating her concern from earlier.

“Oh, there aren’t many, but it does happen from time to time,” Merrill said. “An old friend of mine, Hera Mahariel, she left us right around the time the Blight started. Not even a word, just gone. Then the Keeper told us Hera had survived, and actually helped the Grey Wardens who defeated the Archdemon! Hard to imagine, but she always was so strong. Anyway, after that she disappeared again. Someone told me she was becoming a famous assassin. I don’t know that I believe that, though.”

“That does sound pretty unbelievable,” Hawke said, “but then again, Flemeth saved my family from darkspawn, so it could probably happen.”

“Oh, right! The amulet. We’ll have to head up the mountain a ways. We’d best hurry. _Asha’bellanar_ is not known for her patience,” Merrill said. She hurried ahead, fully expecting the others to simply follow her.

The route they’d meant to take was blocked, which forced them through a cave. Sarah was very much hoping they didn’t run into any nasty cave spiders. They were big and icky and she did not like their hairy legs. There were a couple of them, but she tried not to be too obvious as she directed Anders, Merrill, and Varric to kill them before they could get close.

“Just worried about poison fangs, that’s all,” Hawke insisted, answering a question no one had asked.

A few more appeared in the next part of the cave, but this time Hawke swallowed her fear and lunged at one of the nasty bugs. (Or if you’re picky about terminology, the nasty arachnids.) She would stab each one quickly in the head, killing them both swiftly and effectively. Hawke still shuddered when they moved though, their bodies making awful noises that only giant spider legs could make.

“Let’s get out of here before more of those things show up,” Hawke said, already moving towards the exit. She barely even bothered to look for treasure. Greed was trumped by her phobia, this time.

Yet, when they got out on the other side of the blockage, there appeared to be a magical barrier in place. Hawke sighed heavily, already starting to turn to Anders in vain hopes that he could undo it. But her attention was quickly drawn elsewhere as Merrill drew out a small knife from her belt, and sliced quickly across her palm. Panic surged through Hawke’s body. She’d never seen blood magic before, but it was pretty easy to tell that it was being used.

Merrill ran the wounded hand over the barrier, mouth moving slightly like she was whispering something to it. Blood soared around her like a cloud, flowing into the shimmering wall of energy. It vanished quickly, and Merrill lowered her hand. The other four were standing back, looking appalled.

“That was blood magic,” Anders said with disgust. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“I opened the barrier so we could pass. I knew I couldn’t do it alone so I got the help of a...a spirit,” Merrill said.

“You mean a demon, right?” Hawke said.

“Demons are spirits, too!” Merrill argued, looking around her. She was clearly outnumbered in that opinion. “They’re different, not like humans. You can’t judge them just because they’re named after something bad. It’s just their nature.”

“Demons are not like spirits. They only want to corrupt and gain power from mortals foolish enough to fall into their grasp. Like you, it seems,” Anders said. He was fuming.

“Easy, let’s not rip each other apart just yet,” Hawke said, holding a hand in front of Anders. Merrill might have been foolish, but it seemed harsh to say so when they barely knew her. Either way, they needed her to complete their task, so it wasn’t like they could leave her behind.

“The place where we need to perform the ritual is just ahead,” Merrill said, looking down at her feet. “We should go.” She went ahead of the other four, again just expecting that they would follow. This time, they didn’t. Not immediately.

“Maybe this is a bad idea, Hawke,” Varric said quietly. “She doesn’t seem like a bad person, but those are pretty dangerous forces to be messing with.”

“I need to do this,” Hawke reminded him. “I made a promise to a very powerful witch and I don’t think that’s a wise thing to break.”

“I agree with you there, Hawke, but I really don’t like that we’re working with a maleficarum,” Aveline said.

Hawke was looking to Anders. Of all people to be bothered by this revelation, he seemed like he could have the most problems with it. If not him, certainly Justice would. He wasn’t flaring up, however. Hawke hoped that was a good sign, perhaps that he was getting a little better at containing his emotions to keep the spirit of Vengeance at bay. They had to move on.

Hawke started forward, and the rest fell in line. Merrill was waiting patiently at the altar. The group couldn’t help but stare at the stones surrounding them. All of them could feel there was some energy there, but none could place it, not even Anders. Merrill stepped towards them, seeing the confusion on their faces.

“In the days of Arlathan, the elders came here to sleep,” she said. There was a sadness to her voice, a straining that hadn’t been there before. “ _Uthenara_ , the endless dream. They don’t sleep peacefully anymore.”

Hawke opened her mouth, about to ask what the elven girl meant, when the ground shook beneath them. Corpses, mostly bone but with pieces of flesh hanging from them, were rising from the ground. Hawke readied her daggers. She was thankful that it wasn’t more spiders, at least.

Aveline charged through the slow-growing horde, reaching a target on the far end. An arcane horror had appeared amongst the group, likely the cause of the rest of the undead rising. Hawke tried to take out nearby enemies, protecting the other three who were better at a longer range. Varric shot a bolt that carried a small smoke bomb, so its explosion concealed Hawke within its fog.

The undead were a bit easier to fight than people whose hearts still beat. They were not as quick or as clever as the living. Hawke used this to her advantage, distracting them easier than she ever had.

The real trouble was the abomination Aveline was currently taking on solo, in an attempt to distract the arcane horror from trying to attack the others. Yet, the undead mage noticed how many of its allies had fallen, and saw that it was by Hawke’s hands. It fired an arc of lightning in her direction.

Anders was quick to react, throwing up a shield. Hawke turned, breathing heavily as she watched the lightning deflected, mere inches from her face. She stood still, waiting for it to stop so Anders could remove the barrier. As soon as it fell, Hawke returned to work, trying to get the undead that were surrounding most of their group.

“Varric! Anders! Help Aveline!” Hawke commanded.

Anders hesitated, but once Varric was moving into a better position to aim at the arcane horror, he knew he had to follow suit.

Merrill stepped in closely, using a unique form of magic that commanded the earth below her. Vines rose and entangled three of the undead at once, squeezing them until their bones snapped into hundreds of pieces, unable to reform into one solid being again. Merrill was not as careful as the others were, Hawke noted.

She was probably used to fighting alone, or not at all. It was a bit of a concern as Hawke was already rather clumsy on the battlefield. There were at least a few close calls as Merrill’s vines whipped around. Thick as they were, it would definitely leave a bruise to get hit by one of those.

The arcane horror was dealt with more quickly after sending reinforcements to assist Aveline. There was just one enemy left, but it was hard to strike. It was like it was made of pure shadow.

“A shadow warrior,” Merrill said, switching her form of attack to spirit-based magic. “It’s nearly impossible to fight with physical weaponry alone.”

Hawke nodded, leaping backwards to get out of the way of an attack. “I’ll distract it then,” Hawke said. “And you mages do your thing!”

Anders was quick with a flurry of fire and ice magic. Merrill continued trying to land spirit attacks, but judging by her slowed movement, she was running low on mana. She didn’t know how to reserve it like Anders did. Definitely less experienced in a fight, Hawke noted.

Hawke continued to hop around the field, mostly trying to dodge the shadow warrior’s enraged swings. Occasionally, she would attempt to run her dagger through it, only to find little friction in its mostly intangible form. Hawke wasn’t certain she was doing any good, but she continued to taunt it as best she could, keeping its “eyes” on her. (She didn’t think it actually had eyes, but it could definitely see her.)

Varric sometimes attempted to blow it back or stun it, but most of the crossbow bolts just slowed slightly before floating through to the other side.

“I can’t tell if it’s getting any weaker!” Hawke cried. She was working her way back towards the mages, in an attempt to help the weakening Merrill. The elven girl was sweating and practically starting to wheeze as she struggled to continue her assault. Hawke tried to look through a pouch on her hip for any vials of lyrium on hand.

Finally, she grasped one, and called Merrill’s name before tossing it towards her. Merrill nearly fumbled to the point of dropping it, but she held it steady in the end. She swallowed the contents, and looked brighter instantly. She charged energy at the tip of her staff, then sent the beam of purple spirit magic flying at the shadow warrior.

It didn’t have a mouth, but the thing screamed. Hawke had to cover her ears the sound was so awful, but as she did so she also lost balance. She had been in the middle of evading an attack, and the sudden change in motion disrupted her balance.

Hawke nearly fell, but she was close enough to Anders that he reached his arm out to hold her steady. He summoned up a quick barrier in front of the two of them, which apparently also blocked sound when needed. Hawke lifted her face and mouthed “thank you” at him. Anders mouthed “you’re welcome” back at her.

The barrier fell once the shadow had dissolved into the air. Bits and pieces of undead—now re-dead—were scattered around. It didn’t make for a pleasant smell. They moved towards the altar, regrouping after the attack. Anders checked for any injuries. Luckily, Hawke had mostly been dodging this time, and came away with only small scratches. Aveline had actually gotten the brunt of the injuries, having dashed ahead of the others.

“That’s a reckless move I’d expect from myself, not you,” Hawke said as Anders ran healing magic over Aveline’s arms. They were covered in bruises. She also sustained a heavy hit to her face, which left her a little bloodied. Not a pretty sight.

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” Aveline said. “I thought that if I took down the horror that was summoning them, they’d all fall at once. Apparently not.”

“Um, is there something I could do to help? I’ve got a bit of elfroot in my pack,” Merrill said, her voice squeaking slightly.

“I can handle it,” Anders snapped.

“It’s what he’s here for,” Hawke told Merrill, hoping that excused his defensiveness. “Thank you for offering, though.”

“I just wish I’d been more helpful. You even had to take care of me in the middle of the battle! I must look so incompetent to you,” Merrill said. She was gripping her staff with two hands, leaning a bit of her weight into it.

“Not at all,” Hawke lied. After she earned a suspicious look from the other four, she admitted, “Well, maybe a little. But that’s okay. You’re just inexperienced.”

Hawke was watching Merrill’s stance closely. She was leaning a bit _too_ much into her staff. It seemed like she was using it more as a cane, for the moment.

“Anders, check on Merrill, too,” Hawke instructed. He didn’t groan or make any audible complaint, but she could see he was reluctant. Hawke nearly sprang into a lecture about how—trust her or not—Merrill had been a great help to them. It had been her blast of spirit energy to finish off the shadow warrior, after all.

“You fractured your hip,” Anders said with a bit of surprise. “How in the name of Andraste did you manage that?”

“I think one of the boney creatures hit me against the stone at one point. I barely noticed at the time but it does kind of hurt, now,” Merrill said, wincing.

Anders summoned up more of that green creation energy, waving his hands over the damaged area. Merrill started to giggle, saying she felt a tickle when he did that. Hawke was in awe that the cutest girl she’d ever met also happened to be the first blood mage she’d ever met. Blood magic and adorableness did not seem like things that should mix, and yet…

Merrill was healed after about a minute of work from Anders. Now it was his turn to fall back a little, but Hawke returned the favor from earlier and gave him some support. She found a second vial of lyrium to offer him, but he refused it, insisting that he’d replenish the energy naturally. Hawke nodded. Better to be safe with the stuff. Even a mage could get addicted if they weren’t careful.

Hawke handed the amulet over to Merrill, who walked up to place it on the altar. She wove her hand over it in circular motions, reciting an elvish chant. The words flowed beautifully together. Almost like a song.

_Hahren na melana sahlin_  
_Emma ir abelas_  
_Souver'inan isala hamin_  
_Vhenan him dor'felas_  
_In uthenera na revas..._

With the last syllable, light burst forth from the amulet, harsh and orange. It crackled in the air and swirled around the group like wind. The streaks flew toward the sky. A figure of the same orange light was forming, the features familiar to both Hawke and Aveline. Hair like horns, a dress like scales, and eyes the bright yellow of a sun.

“Ahh,” Flemeth sighed, rolling her neck slightly, “and here we are.”

Merrill swooped into a curtsy at the sight of the witch. “ _Andaran atish’an, Asha’bellanar_ ,” she said swiftly.

“One of the People, so young and bright. Tell me, do you know who I am beyond that title?” Flemeth challenged.

“I know only a little,” Merrill said, refusing to lift her head.

“Then stand. The People bend their knee too quickly,” Flemeth told her.

Merrill finally stood straight, though Hawke could see a slight tremble in her, yet. Flemeth had turned her attention away from the elf girl, and back towards Hawke and her companions.

“So refreshing to see someone who can keep their end of a bargain,” Flemeth said. “I half expected the amulet to end up in a merchant’s pocket.”

“You know it didn’t occur to me to sell it. Kind of glad I didn’t, since whatever poor sod bought it would have had to deal with a witch being inside it,” Hawke said.

“It was just a piece,” Flemeth said, “but it was all I needed. Just a precaution, were the inevitable to occur. If I know my Morrigan, it already has. That mage she wooed must be wrapped around her little finger by now. I wonder how he’s adjusting to fatherhood.”

“Am I supposed to just know what you’re talking about or are you talking to yourself here?” Hawke asked.

“Morrigan is simply a girl who thinks she knows better than myself or anyone else. And I should expect as much, as that is how I raised her to be,” Flemeth said.

“I’m not sure if she’s your daughter or your enemy,” Hawke said.

“Neither is she,” Flemeth said, voice nearly a whisper.

“What...was that?” Anders asked. “That was not any magic I’ve ever seen.”

“And you suppose you know all magic there is?” Flemeth questioned.

“I know it’s too much power for one person,” Anders said. Hawke looked back at him, half expecting the honey-color of his eyes to be replaced with the unnatural blue glow of Justice. It tended to happen whenever he sounded angry.

“You would be one to know about that subject, then,” Flemeth said.

“I...I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Anders said. He shared a look with Hawke. This witch clearly knew a lot more than she let on.

“Why did you need to come here? Or for me to carry you? Someone as powerful as yourself shouldn’t need some messenger to do her bidding, I’d think,” Hawke said.

“If I flew in everywhere, I would get nowhere. Too much attention. But you did a nice job of smuggling me in quietly, escaping all notice. I have some appointments I need to keep, and I needed to be sure that I survived, regardless of the goings on in Ferelden,” Flemeth said, turning. The back of her skirt moved like a dragon’s tail, flicking excitedly.

“So then, you have plans,” Hawke said, hoping the witch would stop playing games with her. But vague warnings seemed to be the language of witches.

“You and I both have great destinies to see to. So I will leave you with a word of warning,” Flemeth said, looking back at Hawke over her shoulder. She took a few steps forward, then, raising her hands as she stared out at the horizon. “We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears its plummet into the abyss. When you see that moment, do not hesitate to leap. Only if you take that chance will you learn whether or not you can fly.”

“Easy for a dragon to say,” Hawke pointed out.

“True,” Flemeth said with a laugh. “But you could never be a dragon.” She turned once more to Merrill. “As for you, tread lightly. There is no more dangerous a path to walk then when your eyes are shut.”

“ _Ma serannas, Asha’bellanar_ ,” Merrill said, nodding.

“The time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks,” Flemeth said to Hawke, “and my sympathies.”

They watched as the witch walked towards the edge of the cliff, glowing bright orange as she had before. Flemeth shifted into the same High Dragon that Hawke remembered from the first time they met, then Flemeth rose into the sky with a gust of wind. Hawke lifted her arms to shield from the slight cloud of dust that bloomed as the dragon departed.

Merrill ran towards the spot where Flemeth had been standing, staring up at the dragon that appeared to grow smaller as she got further away. No one spoke a word as they collected themselves to descend back down the mountain. They would speak with the Keeper once more, then gather Merrill and take the return trip to Kirkwall.

Keeper Marethari pleaded one last time with Merrill for her to stay. But the girl had made up her mind, and was quick to insist that they leave. There was clearly more to the argument than either woman would say, but Hawke did not care to involve herself in such matters. There was already enough going on in her life. It wasn’t like she really understood the ins and outs of Dalish culture anyway, and would probably be lost in an instant.

Varric took a liking to Merrill quickly. Hawke suspected it had a little bit to do with the excited way she praised Varric for his trail mix idea. But it also had a lot to do with the adorable and cheerful attitude Merrill had. It was hard not to like her, though Anders sure seemed to be trying his best. Hawke walked beside him most of the time, attempting to reassure him that the girl was probably mostly harmless.

“I’m sure all blood mages think so at first, until they become abominations,” Anders said.

“And you don’t see the irony in that at all?” Hawke argued.

Anders glared at her.

“Okay, fine. It’s different, sure. All I know is, if we shut her out now, we never had a chance to guide her in the right direction. But if we stick close to her, act the friend, maybe we can talk her out of whatever terrible decisions she tries to make. Friends call out friends on their bullshit, right?”

“I suppose,” Anders said, though he still sounded unconvinced.

It didn’t matter. Hawke would try to look after Merrill as best she could. The Dalish girl was on her own, after all, having left her entire family behind. It took bravery to do that, even if it wasn’t for the best reason. Hawke respected that conviction.

Merrill looked as if she would cry at the sight of the Alienage. For so many people in one place, it was awfully lonely. There had been a vacant space on the ground floor of a building directly across from the stairs that lead down to the area, where Merrill would get herself settled. They’d taken a longer time getting back than they had to leave, since they not only had Merrill along with them, but a lot of Merrill’s things. It admittedly wasn’t too much, but Aveline and Hawke had to carry one very large package together. It weighed more than all the other things Merrill owned put together.

“One day you are going to have to tell me just what was in that thing,” Hawke insisted, her breathing heavy after the long trip home. If not for Aveline taking the brunt of the weight, Hawke would have been flattened under the package.

“Wait, does that mean you actually want to see me again after this?” Merrill said.

Hawke laughed and told her, “Of course! After all we’ve been through, you’re pretty much one of us. I think facing hordes of demons or undead could be our initiation ritual.”

“You know Rivaini hasn’t faced a horde of undead yet,” Varric noted.

“That can be easily fixed,” Hawke said. “I’ll give you a bit of time to spruce up the place, make it look nice and homey, then we’ll stop by later. How does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely, Hawke, thank you,” Merrill said, face flushed with joy. “You’ll come too, Varric, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Daisy,” Varric said. Apparently after the walk home, he already had a nickname at the ready for their new friend.

The sun was setting, which meant it was time to get home, at least for now. Hawke was too sore to play street vigilante for the night, and Bethany was waiting to know how the day went, anyway.

Bethany was jealous of the adventures they’d been through. She also had a lot of the same worries Anders did about the blood magic. Hawke couldn’t deny it was concerning, but did try to act as if she had something of a handle on things. Bethany wasn’t buying it, but promised to reserve judgment until she could meet Merrill herself.

“But now you also have to explain to Fenris that we have an abomination _and_ a maleficar with us,” Bethany pointed out. She knew Hawke would squirm at this reminder. Sometimes it was fun to tease her older sister.

“Is there no one ordinary in Kirkwall?” Hawke groaned, falling back in her bed.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say...no,” Bethany said with a grin. Hawke groaned again, louder this time, and Bethany laughed. “Just try to think about how we’re getting those last sovereigns for the expedition, sister.”

That was something of a conundrum, Hawke agreed. But it would be easier to solve with sleep. Of course, it was hard to nod off when you had a witch’s ominous warnings running around in your head all night. What bothered Hawke most was how Flemeth had offered her “sympathies.” It begged the question, “for what?” Hawke didn’t know if she actually wanted the answer to that.


	6. Questionable Dealings

“I hate money,” Hawke complained to Varric. They were still about twenty sovereigns short. They would have been set long ago, but Hawke had needed new armor that one time, then new daggers; she bought Aveline a nicer shield to make sure her keepsake wasn’t getting all banged up and got more potions for more dangerous jobs, then some enchantments for Sandal to place on the appropriate weapons or armor, and more.

Hawke had taken to picking up every random piece of junk from dead bodies that she could. Anything from spider fangs to old weapons or armor—which was how she got her new green set that she liked a lot more—to broken bows and animal pelts. Whatever Hawke could find a use for, she offered to her friends or kept for herself. Soon they were all fighting with pilfered weapons, save of course for Varric, who would never leave his beloved Bianca. Hawke was relieved whenever they ran into a female bandit that appeared to wear her size in light armor. The number of times she asked an opponent for their shoe size when she should have been stabbing them in the throat was ridiculous.

“You don’t hate money, Hawke,” Varric insisted. He was concerned about Hawke’s hoarding, but as it seemed to be saving the group money on new supplies, he started to welcome the habit. He had, however, taken many opportunities to tell Hawke to stop undressing the dead people, just because their armor might be worth something. If Hawke had to leave their enemies naked in the streets, Varric figured she could at least focus on the more expensive items.

“I do, though,” Hawke whined. She was on her fourth glass of the night, which explained the attitude.

“No, you don’t. You hate not having money,” Varric corrected.

“Okay fine,” Hawke said. “You win. I hate that money seems to hate me.”

“It has been a little harder to scrounge up coin lately. You would think that the dirty work flowed in a never-ending river, but with so many Fereldan refugees to pick up the slack, we’ve got to dig a little deeper,” Varric said. He was rubbing his chin, trying to think, when Aveline appeared. Not a common sight in the Hanged Man.

“Hey there big girl,” Isabela said, wiggling her fingers at Aveline. “Nice to see you’ll finally associate with the common rabble.”

“Not now, Isabela,” Aveline said. “This is serious. Look what I found in Hightown earlier today.”

Hawke took the parchment from Aveline’s hand, reading it quick. It would help if the letters stopped dancing on the page. Varric read it over Hawke’s shoulder.

“The viscount’s son is missing?” Varric said.

“Yes, and I already asked Seneschal Bran for the details. He says that they have a lead on Seamus’ location, and that a few different mercenary groups have been advised to be on the lookout on the Wounded Coast tomorrow. The little prat said they didn’t want the guard involved because it would cause a scene, and yet he’s already given the Winters the same information,” Aveline said, pacing. “Those mercenaries are not like most groups. They’re ruthless. They could hurt the viscount’s son or...or worse!”

“Do you think there’s good coin in it?” Isabela asked.

“Do I think… How can you be worried about coin after what I just told you?!” Aveline shouted.

Hawke hiccuped.

“Easy, Aveline,” Varric said. “We’ll get on it first thing tomorrow, but there’s not much to be done right now. And Isabela, the flyer is promising good pay. I’m sure the viscount is willing to empty his pockets for this one.”

“Don’t worry Aveline,” Hawke said, slurring slightly, “I will save him.”

“That is hardly reassuring when you’re drunk,” Aveline said.

“Do me a favor and take her home. She’ll be of no use to us with a massive hangover,” Varric said.

“Pretty sure we’re past the point of preventing that,” Aveline said with a scowl.

“Hawke is more resilient than you know, trust me. She’ll bounce right back from this one,” Varric said. Isabela was cackling as Aveline hoisted the wasted Hawke onto her shoulders, carrying her out with as much grace as a cow.

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline appeared at Hawke’s door the next morning, with Varric and Fenris in tow. Bethany was the one to answer when the guardswoman knocked. The youngest Hawke looked terribly apologetic, running to get her sister.

“I agreed to do what?” Hawke said, thankful that she was not in her pajamas at the sight of Fenris.

“You didn’t so much agree to it as I agreed for you,” Varric told her. “There’s coin in it though.”

“Do you two care about nothing else?” Aveline scolded.

“I do, I’m just...having a little trouble remembering everything,” Hawke said. Bethany brought Hawke her daggers. “Let’s make that the last time I drink my feelings.”

This time, they were lucky enough that Leandra was out on her morning stroll, so Bethany was able to sneak out and join them. She was grateful to not only get some fresh air, but to get away from Gamlen for a while. They also brought along Hermes the mabari, since he’d been cooped up for so long.

“Maybe he could even sniff out a trail or something,” Hawke suggested.

“I think we’d need something from the viscount’s son to do that,” Bethany said.

Bethany was right of course, but Hermes still attempted to catch a scent as they walked towards the coast. He stopped short, and barked at something up ahead. They weren’t quite to the coast yet, but there was the sound of fighting ahead. Hawke, with Aveline and Fenris just behind her, hurried into the fray.

 _Spiders_. Of all the things to run into out there, it just had to be more spiders!

Bethany helped push some of them away from her sister, remembering Hawke’s phobia. It wasn’t something she often liked to share, as it felt like a silly weakness for someone of her talents to have. Still, Hawke managed to slice apart one of the giant beasts, with the help of some mercenary forces that had already been fighting the things. She shuddered at the corpses, crushing their heads beneath her heel to be certain they would not be getting back up.

“What a waste of money you lot turned out to be!” a cranky dwarf was shouting, pushing through the mercenaries once the spiders were dead. He kicked one of them, then shrieked when its leg twitched. It was a muscle reflex, nothing more, but it even startled Hawke into jumping backwards. She was just glad she didn’t scream like the dwarf had.

“Blasted spiders,” the dwarf growled. “I suppose I should thank my rescuers. The name is Javaris Tintop, at your service. You sure can handle yourselves against monsters like these, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hawke said, staring at the leg of the spider that had twitched before. If it moved again she was going to cut it into tiny pieces until it was unrecognizable. Just to be sure.

“Well, since my men are now injured and proved that they are useless to me, I might just have a job for you,” Javaris said.

“Is there coin in it?” Hawke asked.

“Hawke, really?” Aveline chided.

“She just needs it for the expedition, relax,” Varric said, patting Aveline’s arm.

“Oh there’s plenty of coin. I’ll even pay you twice the amount I was going to pay these sorry fools,” Javaris said.

Hawke raised a single brow, staring him down. “Alright, now you sound too excited. What’s the catch?”

“Well, I won’t lie to you, it’s dangerous. But if we succeed, it will be a very profitable venture for us all. See, I’m sure you’ve noticed the Qunari that have been staying in Kirkwall? Giant with huge horns? Hard to miss. Well, they have this explosive powder called _gaatlok_. I was going to pay their Arishok for it, but he didn’t want my money. So, instead, I’m doing him a favor.

“There’s this huge group of Tal’Vashoth out on the coast, and I was going to have my men get rid of them. They’re basically traitors to the Qunari, murdering and pillaging and causing all kinds of mayhem. You can see why they would want to be rid of them. We take them out, the Arishok gives me the _gaatlok_ formula, and I pay you for helping me. How about it? Do we have a deal?” Javaris said, extending his hand.

“Yeah, this seems exactly like the kind of guy we should be helping get more power,” Varric said, nudging Hawke.

He was right, of course. Still, Hawke had two problems. First, this guy was stupid and had coin to give. Stupid people were very easy to take coin from without feeling bad. Second, these Tal’Vashoth sounded pretty bad anyway and Hawke had already been leading her group towards the Wounded Coast.

She sighed and shook Javaris’ hand in agreement. She regretted that instantly, his clammy fingers making her feel like she needed to run it under water for three days before it would be clean again.

“I’ll do it,” Hawke said. “You better be paying as much as you claim to be.”

“Oh trust me, I’m done bargain hunting. Speaking of which,” Javaris said, looking behind him at the group of hirelings that were still recovering from the fight earlier. “You lazy bunch of slackers! We’re goin’ home!”

They left quickly, every face of the men who followed the dwarf screaming that they regretted their decisions in life. Hawke shook her head, still not sure that it was the right decision to get involved.

“I’m starting to wonder just how much you’d do if you’d get paid. Athenril was a worse influence on you than I previously thought,” Aveline said.

“It’s not just about coin, Aveline,” Hawke insisted. “Javaris said those Tal’Vashoth were living like outlaws. It would be a service to Kirkwall to be rid of them, not just to us.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” Aveline said. “You don’t think they could be the ones that took the Viscount’s son?”

“Doubtful, but we should be on the lookout, just in case,” Hawke said.

She still felt Aveline’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her head. It was obvious that she didn’t approve, but Hawke had convinced her for now. Together, the group searched the whole coast, looking for any trace of Seamus. Hawke pocketed some Grey Warden papers that appeared to have been stolen, thinking that Anders might know how to return them. At almost every turn there was another group of bandits, but with five people plus a mabari, Hawke and her companions made short work of anyone that attacked.

Varric grinned wider with every full purse he retrieved from some dead bandit. Hawke was starting to wonder if she’d drunkenly prayed to the Maker last night, and this was an answer from the higher power. Or maybe today was just a good day for getting paid. Hawke also pocketed some of the nicer things the bandits carried on them. No time to strip them down to their smallclothes today. There was business to handle.

They heard a bit of shouting as they continued down the coastline. Hawke signaled for her companions to use caution as they approached. Hermes growled a little, then quieted down to follow her lead.

“Ashaad! You killed him,” Seamus said, falling to his knees. Hawke could see the body of a Qunari in front of him. Seamus took the dead Qunari’s hand in his, then looked up at the attacker bitterly. “You...you _vashedan_ bitch!”

“That one of their words? See, that’s why you need to be dragged home. You’re playing too nice with these things. I’d wager you’ve gone even further than that. Haven’t you, brat?” the woman taunted.

Hawke saw how gentle Seamus was with the way he laid his hands on the Qunari’s body and wondered if the woman’s observation—though cruelly spoken—was correct. There wasn’t really time to consider this, however, as the mercenaries noticed their approach.

“Hold it!” the woman said, clearly the leader of the mercenary group. “The Winters already have a claim on this one. The Viscount will be paying handsomely. I’ll give you one chance to leave before we flay you alive.”

Seamus turned towards Hawke, both surprised and hopeful at the sight of the newcomers. “Please, she’s killed my friend. If I must return, I’d rather not see these murderers rewarded for it,” Seamus said.

“Spoiled shit!” the leader of the Winters spat, drawing her daggers out. “I should cut out your tongue and charge them for returning you silent!”

“Somehow I don’t think the Viscount would be pleased to see his son mutilated,” Hawke said, grabbing her own weapons. With one quick motion she lunged at the mercenary, slicing a long line across her chest. “Shit, that was supposed to be your throat.”

“Bitch!” the woman screamed, voice shrill. The woman leapt back, attempting to evade Hawke’s attacks. But Hawke was relentless.

The others took on the rest of the mercenaries, keeping them from giving their leader much needed backup. They fell quickly to Fenris and Aveline, while Varric and Bethany were busy making sure that the reinforcements starting to arrive couldn’t flank them.

Hawke was supported by her mabari, who bit the woman’s leg until she cried out in pain. It gave Hawke the perfect opportunity to fall in and stab right through her chest.

“You should probably consider a change in occupation,” Hawke said with a smile. The woman fell to the ground with a thump. It was too soon to celebrate, however, as Bethany was calling for help.

She’d managed to freeze a few of the attackers in a cone of cold, but there were more starting to flood in towards her. Hawke was too far to offer immediate help, and Varric and Aveline were stuck fighting their own battles. Hawke couldn’t even _see_ Fenris, until a flash of blue appeared behind Bethany’s attackers and his sword cut through them in one fluid swing.

Hawke was already running towards them to help out. It felt good fighting beside Fenris. Despite her erratic movements, he seemed to follow her patterns closely, never striking where he wasn’t needed. If Hawke was about to be struck by a blow she couldn’t see or anticipate, Fenris was at the ready. Bethany and Hermes supported the both of them as well, both confusing and stunning enemies so they were easier to hit.

It was no easy fight as the mercenaries started to seem endless, but as one of Varric’s bolt’s struck the last guy in the eye, everyone started to breathe a little easier. Seamus was unharmed, still waiting by the body of the dead Qunari. Hawke wanted to ask about him, but figured it was inappropriate to pry. Instead, she remembered what they’d been able to do for Karl and Anders.

“Should we bury him?” Hawke asked.

Seamus looked over at her, eyes going wider for a moment as he studied her face. When he saw that she was genuinely asking him, he looked back down at the body.

“No, it is not customary for Qunari to be buried. The soul has left the body, so there is nothing left of Ashaad as a person. I appreciate the thought, however,” Seamus said.

“Do you need a minute alone? We could probably use a little while to uh...check out the bodies here,” Hawke said. Telling the Viscount’s son they were looting the dead seemed kind of crass. Seamus agreed that he wouldn’t mind waiting for them to finish up their business, but did look towards the path like he wanted to leave as soon as possible. Hawke would not make him wait too long.

“Bethany,” Hawke called to her sister. “Do you think you could see Seamus back safely? Take Hermes with you, too. We’ve still got the Tal’Vashoth to take care of.”

Seamus perked up at the mention, saying, “Tal’Vashoth? What business do you have with them?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Hawke said. “Why, do you know anything about them?”

“They’ve abandoned the Qun to lead lives of self-gratification,” Seamus said, every word a condemnation. “For them, that means killing anyone in their way and taking whatever they want. They’re an insult to everything the Qunari believe in, but they’re also very dangerous. If you’re going after them, take great care, serah.”

“I will, thank you,” Hawke said.

“Don’t you worry, Hawke here is the most careful person I know,” Varric teased.

Seamus was confused as to why this remark made Bethany giggle and Aveline snort. Fenris simply shook his head. None of them had faith in Hawke. Not a one.

Bethany and Hermes walked with Seamus back towards the city. Since Hawke and company had cleared out all the bandits earlier, it wasn’t likely they’d have much trouble returning to Kirkwall. Hawke didn’t want to take long with these Tal’Vashoth, regardless.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Okay, seriously, ow,” Hawke said, finally arriving back in Kirkwall. While fighting the massive Qunari, one of them had flung her backwards against a wall. They’d continued forward until all of the Tal’Vashoth were dead, but as soon as the adrenaline was gone from Hawke’s body, she could feel just how badly the hit had affected her.

“You should go see Doctor Blondie,” Varric said. “I’m betting there is a nasty bruise under that armor, if not worse.”

“I’m fine, it just hurts,” Hawke insisted.

“That doesn’t sound fine,” Aveline said. “Just go to Darktown. Anders is always willing to help you.”

“Which is why I feel bad about taking advantage of him all the time,” Hawke said. “I’ll just sleep this one off. No biggie.”

“You just don’t want the lecture from him,” Varric said. “Because we didn’t bring him along, so he’s going to complain that if he’d been there, he could have taken care of it right away.”

“He’s not my nanny, Varric,” Hawke groaned. She searched her pack for a potion to ease the ache. It helped significantly.

“You do seem to rely on the mage a lot,” Fenris noted. He’d been fairly silent the whole day. Hearing him speak always made Hawke snap to attention, regardless of what he actually said.

“My point exactly,” Hawke said. “I will not use Anders just to heal me all the time. No matter how willing he is to do so.”

“Suit yourself, Hawke. Just don’t complain to me if you’re still sore tomorrow,” Varric said, throwing his hands up in the air.

They were starting to go their separate ways. Hawke had sent a message to Javaris to meet her outside the Qunari compound on the docks the next day. For now, they’d done enough, and she needed a break. Aveline went back to the barracks and Varric said he would head back to the Hanged Man if Hawke needed him for anything. Fenris was still standing just outside the Chantry with Hawke, however.

“Something you needed?” she asked him. Normally he would have simply left, going back up the stairs to his mansion.

Fenris was opening his mouth to speak, when his head whipped towards the Chanter’s board. An argument was breaking out, and one of the people involved was the Grand Cleric Elthina herself.

“Sebastian, stop this madness. The Chantry cannot condone revenge,” Elthina demanded.

“It is my right, my duty to show these assassins there is nowhere in the Freemarches to hide,” Sebastian said.

Elthina snatched up the page he had just finished posting onto the Chanter’s board as Sebastian started to walk away. “This is murder, Sebastian!” Elthina said.

Without hesitation, Sebastian turned and fired an arrow with pinpoint accuracy, forcing the paper back onto the board. The Grand Cleric leapt to the side as it sailed past her, staring where the arrow hit with fear. Had he been just a bit off with his aim, the consequences could have been severely more dramatic.

“No,” Sebastian said, placing his bow on his back again. “What happened to my family was murder.”

The strange man stormed off, leaving Hawke and Fenris to contemplate what in the world they just saw. The sister who usually stood by the Chanter’s board was helping get Elthina back inside the Chantry. Hawke stepped forward, tearing the page from the arrow to read it.

“He’s looking for someone to take out the Flint mercenaries,” Hawke said. “And he’s...a prince? This can’t be real. There is no way.”

“Does it say anything else?” Fenris asked.

“His full name is Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven,” Hawke told him.

“The Vaels are the ruling family there. Or perhaps I should say were, if they were truly assassinated,” Fenris said.

“I’ll have to show this to Varric. Maybe he’s heard something about it that I haven’t,” Hawke said, stuffing the paper into her pocket. “Plus he’ll go crazy when I tell him there is actually someone out there who might be a better shot than he is.” Hawke took another look at the Chanter’s Board, while she was there, just to be certain there were no other tasks worth seeing to. Sadly, nothing. She glanced back at Fenris.

“Anyway, you were about to say something before all of that?” Hawke said, remembering what the scene had interrupted.

“Perhaps it can wait for another time,” Fenris said.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, “if you think it’s important, I’d like to hear it.”

“Aveline told me about the blood mage,” he said.

“Oh,” Hawke breathed. “So this is about Merrill.”

“I just wanted to be sure you know what you’re doing, Hawke,” Fenris said. “Not every mage is worthy of your trust. Bethany might have proven herself, but a blood mage is different. She could be dangerous to all of us. Including your family.”

“I understand. I’m not going to say I trust Merrill, because I barely know her, but I just… I wanted to give her a chance before I… Hold on a second,” Hawke said, stopping suddenly. “You said Bethany proved herself?”

“We have spoken a few times. Your sister is bright, Hawke, with a good nature,” Fenris said.

“Spoken? When? Where? W-why didn’t she tell me about this?” Hawke said, reeling. Bethany teased Hawke relentlessly about how she acted around Fenris, yet Bethany was going and having secret meetings with him! Had she said something? _Implied_ something, even? Oh, Maker…

“Bethany mentioned being left behind more often,” Fenris explained. “She grew bored and for whatever reason, came to see me. I was under the impression that you were aware of this.”

“Clearly not,” Hawke said, running a hand through her hair. “But you two...you get along?”

“I didn’t expect that I would, but Bethany took me by surprise,” Fenris admitted. “She is rather unlike other mages I have met.”

“And that includes Anders?” Hawke said. Fenris nodded. Hawke took a deep breath. “Well, there’s something you don’t know about him. I figure you deserve to be told. I mean, you seem to be handling the blood mage thing pretty well so…”

Fenris waited, watching Hawke gather herself. But Hawke was realizing that this was not the kind of conversation to be having in a public location. She glanced around her at all the potentially prying eyes, and reconsidered.

“Actually, could we do this somewhere more private? Like your place?” Hawke said. Then she thought about how that sounded, and felt a blush rise on her face. She could only pray it wasn’t too visible. “Just because it’s, um, sensitive information.”

“If you think it’s necessary,” Fenris said.

It had been longer than Hawke realized since she’d been in the mansion. It was still almost as messy as she remembered, but there were noticeably fewer dead bodies, and some paths had been swept so no one would step on shards of glass while walking through the house. Hawke didn’t ask, but she was certain it was Bethany’s doing. Hawke had mentioned numerous times how worried she was about Fenris cutting his foot on something in there.

The bodies didn’t require mentioning for Bethany to think of taking care of them. There was still the faintest smell, that clued Hawke in to the bodies remaining somewhere in the house, but she couldn’t tell where as she only noticed the smell when she looked for it.

Fenris lead her upstairs to the master bedroom, now his room. There were some bottles of wine there Hawke hadn’t seen before. One had already been opened.

“Aggregio Pavali. There are six more bottles in the cellar. One of the better things Danarius left behind,” Fenris said, watching where Hawke’s eyes fell. It made her suddenly very conscious about where she was looking. Hawke pulled up a chair and sat while Fenris drank straight from the open bottle.

“He didn’t also happen to leave behind a few glasses?” Hawke said.

“Admittedly, I broke most of them,” Fenris told her. “I didn’t think I’d ever have company to need them.” He held the bottle out to her in offering. She grabbed it and took a large sip.

“Wow. Much better than anything the Hanged Man serves,” Hawke said, passing the wine back.

“Based on the way you and Varric talk about that place, it’s a wonder anyone even goes there,” Fenris said.

“When your options are limited and you’re having a bad night, even the shittest ale will get you drunk,” Hawke said. “Which Aveline probably _also_ mentioned.”

“I did hear her mumble something about ‘Hawke’ and ‘black-out drunk.’ It was hard to catch. She was rather annoyed,” Fenris said, a slight smirk teasing at his lips.

“That is nothing new,” Hawke said. “But I didn’t come to talk about Aveline, did I?”

“No,” Fenris said, taking another drink. “You said something about the mage.”

“Anders. I’ve been looking for a time to tell you this, because we’re going to be working together and you two will probably be around each other again. You might have even noticed already but, he does this thing where he glows?” Hawke said. Fenris nodded, urging her to continue. She took a deep breath. “That’s...Justice. A spirit within Anders.”

“You mean to say he is...an abomination?” Fenris said. His grip tightened on the bottle.

“In a sense, yes. But it’s not a demon. It’s a spirit from the Fade. It got stuck on our plane and I guess Anders became friends with it? Then he let it into him, thinking that it couldn’t corrupt him because it wasn’t a demon. But instead of the spirit corrupting him, he corrupted the spirit. It still guides him to seek justice in life but it’s angrier, more vengeful. Seeing the argument outside of the Chantry there kind of reminded me of it. Sometimes it’s hard to see what is just and what is just _vengeful,_ ” Sarah said.

To Fenris’ credit, he was silent until she had finished speaking. Hawke trusted him not to do something rash, but Anders was not going to be happy when he found out that Fenris knew. She stood by what she’d done. If Fenris was risking his life beside them, he had a right to know about Anders’ “condition.”

“Can he control it?” Fenris asked. It had been a while since either of them had spoken. Sarah released a breath she’d not realized she’d been holding in.

“Most of the time. I do notice Justice flare up when he gets upset, but he always calls it back before anything can happen,” she explained.

Fenris looked her in the eye now. “And you trust him?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “With my life.”

“That much is clear,” Fenris said, laughing darkly. “You are more...relaxed when he is around. Which only puts you at more risk.”

“Which is why I’m not going to see him about a few bruises and scrapes,” Hawke reminded him, pointing to her still injured back. “I’m trying to rely on him less. And...I have been trying to be more careful.”

“I noticed,” Fenris said. That took her by surprise. “Not a lot, but I saw how you battled today, compared to before. You still get caught off guard, but it is an improvement.”

“You also had by back,” Hawke said with a smile. Her heart fluttered happily. He was complimenting her, in a way. It felt nice. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask about the glowing thing you do? It looked like it had something to do with the markings on your skin.”

Fenris’ body grew taut. He took another large drink, finishing the bottle, then threw it at the wall. Hawke flinched as it shattered.

“These markings are made of pure lyrium,” Fenris explained, turning his arm to examine the exposed patch in his armor. “The first thing I remember is having them embedded into my skin. The experience was...excruciating. Danarius forced them on me. They are why I am able to phase through solid objects. To reach into a person and tear out their heart.”

“Lyrium? Is that even possible?” Hawke said.

“It must be, for I am here,” Fenris said.

“And you said… You mentioned something about it being ‘the first thing you remember?’” Hawke said, still going over what she’d been told.

“I have no memories before these markings. Whoever I was before them was taken from me. Danarius tortured me, took my life from me, and made me into a weapon,” Fenris said.

Hawke breathed, then swallowed air. It felt thick around her.

“To say I’m sorry feels… It doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Hawke said softly.

“I do not seek your pity, Hawke,” Fenris told her. “You wanted to know, and I have told you.”

“You didn’t need to,” Hawke said. “Not if you didn’t want to.”

“I know.”

Hawke sat back in her chair. Fenris was still standing, staring out the window into the back courtyard. Hawke twiddled her thumbs, trying desperately to think of something else to say. She didn’t want to simply leave after that. After causing Fenris to bring that up, Hawke felt she owed him a distraction of some kind.

“Well, do you want to know something about me?” Hawke offered. “It’s something only Bethany knows.”

“You’ve not even told Varric?” Fenris asked, raising a single brow as he turned to look at her.

“Nope. And he will be so jealous if he finds out I told you first,” Hawke said with a grin.

Fenris finally sat, telling Hawke to get on with her tale. Hawke cracked her knuckles in preparation. She really hadn’t told anyone before, because Bethany had partially lived through it with her. This would be her first telling, and she wanted to make sure it was also the best.

Hawke stared deep into Fenris’ green eyes and said, “This is the story of how I first learned to fight.”


	7. That Explains a Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This backstory was really what made me want to write for this Hawke. It came up because I was thinking how, unlike Origins and Inquisition, there isn't some in game reason for a Hawke's specialty. So I just had fun with it.
> 
> Also making a point of posting today. The kudos mean a lot to me, and lately I've been needing the encouragement. So thank you to anyone who has supported me!

With Fenris watching intently, Hawke started her story:

_Back in Ferelden, before my family settled down around Lothering, we moved around a lot to evade templars. When I was little, it was just the way things were. I didn’t really understand that it wasn’t normal to have to do that. I was probably about twelve years old at this time, but I don’t remember exactly where in Ferelden we were hidden. Like I said, we moved a lot._

_Bethany had been showing signs of her magic for a little while by then, so my father, Malcolm, was busy teaching her to control and wield it, as well as keep it concealed from templars who might take her away from us. Carver, Bethany’s twin and my younger brother, had been following me around like a duckling ever since her training began. It was fun at first, since all he wanted to do was play with me, but after a while, it can drive a person kind of crazy. Plus I guess I developed signs of early teenage moodiness._

_I’d taken to finding ways to evade him. Disappearing into shadows and running off to places I knew he wouldn’t follow. He hated it. Carver always found some local villager’s kid to play with when I was nowhere to be found, so I didn’t feel too bad at the time. If I’d known just how much he resented me for it…_

_Anyway, I got into the habit of sneaking around places. Which, once I’d gotten good at that, I decided to use it to my advantage. Which meant, to twelve-year-old me, that I needed to prank people. A lot._

_I was the scourge of the town and no one knew that I was just some trouble-making kid who was bored of being cooped up in our little house. I started to think I was invincible, until, I got caught._

_This old guy took me by the arm, and said, “It must be easy to sneak around when you’re so short.”_

_I shook him off quickly, worried he’d get me in trouble, but he was just laughing. So I got curious and came right back. He said he was a traveler, avoiding some people he’d made awfully mad. But he liked my “style,” or so he claimed, and wanted to tutor me to fight. I asked him if he meant to fight like a knight, and that just made him laugh more._

_“No,” he said, “I mean fight like you mean to kill.”_

_Being twelve, that scared the wits out of me. He saw that, laughed some more, then claimed he was joking. If I was interested, I was to show up in the same spot the next day, and bring two small sticks with me. He wasn’t about to give actual weapons to a child. He was eccentric, not crazy._

_Despite my fear, I went, and he started to train me. He taught me how to swing quick but conserve energy. Keep them far or bring them close when I needed. Confuse their sight and hearing and make them think I was everywhere or nowhere, all depending on what I needed. Manipulate them if necessary, trick them into thinking I was weaker than I actually was. He taught me to fight dirty and do anything it took to take out the enemy. I didn’t think of “them” as being people at the time, but that was what he meant._

_When I knew the basics of fighting, then he showed me where to cut. He had me memorize places on the body that bled more and which parts hurt the most. That was when I started really asking questions. I’d been curious before, but not nearly as persistent as I became then._

_He finally relented the day before he left. My family was planning on leaving shortly afterwards, so either way we were parting ways. I still don’t know if I believe his story. But it would explain the things he knew. The old man claimed to be an assassin, on a mission to shadow a target until the time came to kill him. He told me all about their league in Antiva and how the skills he taught me were skills he was taught by the Crows._

_He also told me that he was abandoning his target. I asked if that was allowed, and he said “no.”_

_The old man planned on letting himself get caught. Something about this target...he couldn’t do it. After all he’d taught me about doing whatever it took, I was surprised that he would just let it go. He refused to tell me who the mark was, only that he would be sure to defend this person before the Crows got to him and ended his life._

_The next day, I saw him leaving. He was too far away for me to catch up to him, even if I ran full speed. I kept practicing anyway, starting to think of myself as an assassin with no targets. When my brother and I enlisted, Carver thought of it as becoming an arm of the King. I thought of it as a glorified contract, but I’d never tell anyone that. It’s kind of twisted to think about that now. I definitely don’t think that way anymore, but it was why I joined Carver when he left._

Hawke exhaled, staring at the ceiling. She was sure she’d forgotten the finer details by this point. It was years ago, after all. Bits and pieces were bound to have slipped between the cracks in her mind.

Hawke closed her eyes, and said, “And that’s my story.” She rolled her head towards Fenris, wondering what he thought of it. “It probably explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Your family really never knew about this?” Fenris asked.

“Well, Bethany and Carver knew what I told them at the time, but I’m not sure they believed me. They could have thought it was just a game their big sister had made up. Or nothing more than lies to cover up whatever true devious things I was getting up to during the day,” Hawke said, pursing her lips in thought. “But my parents definitely never knew. I was smart enough to realize telling them was an awful idea.”

Fenris was silent for a while, then finally he laughed lightly and agreed, “You were right. This explains a lot.”

“I know, it just figures right? Varric wishes he could make up stories that good,” Hawke said with a grin.

“Is there anything else I should know about you?” Fenris asked.

Hawke sat up a little straighter. “Like what?”

“Whatever you can think of,” Fenris said. In contrast to Hawke, he was leaning back in his chair.

“Can I ask why?” Hawke said.

“I admit I have...enjoyed your company. It’s not something I’m used to, but I like talking with you, Hawke,” Fenris said.

Heat rose in Hawke’s face. It wasn’t his words that did it, but everything about him combined into one force. His voice, his eyes, and that sexy little smirk he was giving her. Hawke was weak to it all.

“I-in that case…” Hawke said. Words were becoming very difficult to form. Had words been so hard to work with before? She couldn’t remember them having been so hard when she told her story, but now she was stumbling to find anything to say.

“We could talk about anything, really. Get to know each other. How about, what’s your favorite color?” Hawke said. Not because she was looking at his eyes, and their beautiful vivid green. Not at all.

“I don’t have one,” Fenris said.

“Really? Surely there’s at least some color you prefer. Nothing comes to mind?” Hawke asked. She was calming down, focusing her thoughts on the conversation at hand. It was also easier when she wasn’t looking at him.

“...red, I suppose,” he said after a few long moments of thought.

“Any reason? Don’t tell me it’s because blood is red. Too morbid,” Hawke teased.

“I wasn’t aware I needed a reason.”

“Not need, exactly, but I’m curious. My favorite color is green and that’s because…” Hawke paused. She didn’t want to bring up magic too much, not around Fenris, but now he was going to wonder why she stopped. “It’s because it’s the color of creation magic. The kind that heals.”

Fenris was watching her intently, but said nothing. He would have preferred for Hawke to act comfortably around him, though he understood there were reasons why she sometimes couldn’t. Hawke didn't realize this reason for his silence, and only squirmed under his gaze.

“I remember my father using it when I got hurt. If I fell and scraped my knee while running around, he would bring that green glow to his hands and patch me up, good as new. Eventually Bethany learned how to heal, as well. It reminds me of the good magic can do, I guess,” Hawke continued.

“I understand,” Fenris said. “I do not wish you to think me a fool. I know that magic has its uses, but I have too often seen the consequences of using its power to gain something from it. Mages can fall easily under the influence of a demon.”

“All I knew of demons for the longest time were of the nightmares Bethany had when she was in the Fade,” Hawke admitted. “The way she talked about them...they horrified me. I always was kind of grateful I didn’t have magic, even though I knew of the good it could do. So, you know, I don’t blame you for how you feel about mages. Don’t let Anders give you too much shit about it, either.”

“Believe me, now that I know his little secret, I am even less interested in his agenda,” Fenris said.

“...don’t give him too much shit either though,” Hawke added quietly.

They talked for a little while longer, moving back to lighter subjects. It was hard to share without the conversation veering, one way or another, back towards magic. Hawke decided it was late after the fifth or so distraction she’d created to avoid falling into uncomfortable debate.

Fenris did not argue with this, allowing Hawke to see herself out. Only when she did leave the mansion did Hawke realize it had actually gotten quite dark out. Both of them had really lost track of the time.

She made her way back to Lowtown, riding on the slight high she got from his parting words.

“See you tomorrow, Hawke,” he had said. It wasn’t just a way to say goodbye, it was a promise.

Of course, Hawke already knew she’d bring him along to meet with the Arishok. For some reason Fenris had mentioned wanting to come along to aid her with that specifically. He didn’t explain what he’d meant, but she was happy to agree regardless of his reasons.

Still, Hawke felt giddy just to think she would see him again so soon. She had to wonder why, why Fenris of all people made her this way? He’d even flirted with her the once, and so casually. For Hawke that had nearly stopped her heart.

Finally, just outside of Gamlen’s place, it hit her. Hawke had to stop short of actually going into the house, because she was dealing with the obvious that should have dawned on her ages ago. Hawke had a crush on Fenris.

That she didn’t immediately run back a little ways to the Hanged Man spoke to the slight semblance of composure she maintained. Without any, she would have been at Varric’s feet, begging him for advice on what to do. But she needed to have a little pride, here.

Hawke had developed crushes before, sure. Most of them ended when her family left town. In Lothering, there had been no one of real interest. Meaning it had been quite a while since Hawke had developed feelings of a romantic nature for anyone.

The look on her face when she did finally step inside gave her away completely. Bethany was beaming. Hawke had to admit that she’d only just figured this out, whereas Bethany was all too pleased to inform Hawke that she’d known from the start.

“What do you mean, the start?” Hawke asked.

“Well, I had an inkling that first night that something was strange with you. But then you kept bringing him up, and then I really started to watch how you were around him. It was painfully obvious,” Bethany said.

She was healing Hawke’s bruise as much as she could while they spoke. Unfortunately, there was also a small fracture that Bethany noted, which was a bit above her level of healing magic. A trip to Doctor Blondie in the morning was now mandatory for Hawke.

“Who else knows?” Hawke asked.

“I’m not sure. Out of my respect for you,” Bethany said, trying not to sound too sarcastic, “I didn’t mention it to anyone. But it’s likely some of them have noticed by themselves.”

“Great,” Hawke groaned, partially out of the pain of her wound. “Just great.”

“Not that you asked for advice, but I’ve a piece to share with you,” Bethany said. She pulled her hands away, satisfied enough with what she’d managed to take a rest. “Don’t mention it to Anders.”

“Why not? They’re such close friends,” Hawke said sardonically.

“My point exactly,” Bethany said. “I doubt he’ll be able to be objective about this.”

“So do I,” Hawke said.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke was impatient while Anders mended the fracture she’d sustained. She stared straight at the doorway back out almost the entire time she was there. Today she was meeting the Arishok with Javaris. Not to mention, Fenris was coming along. She was more excited for the latter.

Anders was too tired yet to lecture, but he had one in mind. Once he woke up more, he’d bring it up, but for the moment, she was off the hook. At the very least, he insisted on coming along for the day. Hawke realized he wouldn’t relent, which meant she had to tell him something that was likely to earn a second lecture.

“About that,” she said, biting her lip. “Fenris is coming along today.”

“Must he?” Anders complained.

“He did kind of make a point of saying he wanted to come, so I’m gonna say that’s a yes?” Hawke said. “That’s not the point. I told him. About you.”

“What about me?” Anders said.

Hawke was incredibly glad that she was facing away from him to get healed, because she would not have been able to look at him for this. “To be more accurate, I told him about Justice,” she said.

Anders immediately backed up. “You—?! Hawke!” he shouted. He tried to breathe deeply, to calm himself somewhat. “I told you I didn’t want him to know about that.”

“I know, ‘for as long as possible,’” Hawke said, using his words. “I just thought that if he’s working with us, with you, that he should be aware of it.”

“So he can want to kill me more than he already did?” Anders growled.

“He won’t,” Hawke insisted. “And no. So he doesn’t panic the second you go all blue and glowy.”

“That was my secret to keep or to share, Hawke,” Anders said. “Not yours.”

“You didn’t mind that I told anyone else,” Hawke said. “You understood it with them.”

“Because they aren’t Fenris! Who has already made his complete hatred of me very clear,” Anders argued. “He could well want me dead now.”

“Why are you so stubborn when it comes to him?” Hawke said, exasperated.

“I could ask the same of you,” said Anders. He lowered his hands from Hawke’s back. “Just go without me. The Qunari wouldn’t incite violence unless they saw a need. I’ve got a lot to do in the clinic, anyway. These people deserve my time.”

Hawke stood, glancing behind her to see Anders’ sullen expression. There was an implication in that last statement, one that Hawke did not want to acknowledge. One that Anders would never admit to.

“Of course,” Hawke said, feeling a bit numb. “You can’t just shadow me all the time. I’ll try my best not to get killed out there.”

Hawke left him, hating him and hating herself for what had just happened. He was right, but so was she. Wasn't she?

It was easier to shove all the blame on the other person when that was an option, but it wasn’t here. She had screwed up big time. Hawke wondered if she’d ever be able to be a genuine friend to Anders again. Right now she just didn’t feel like she was worthy of the title.

Anders reached out to Hawke as she slipped through the doorway. He’d meant to say something, to beg her to come back and stay until they had talked this through. But the words died in his throat, and he was forced to choke them back down instead until their weight sat in the pit of his stomach.

He had to find out what else Hawke had planned for the day. Anders would not abandon her now. He was furious with her, but she had her reasons for doing what she had. Anders only hoped her trust in Fenris was not misplaced.

✖✖✖✖✖

Everyone noticed Hawke’s sour attitude. Bethany, Fenris, and Varric were with her for the moment. Hawke was missing Isabela’s company, despite the jealousy she was now more willing to admit to. Yet, the moment she mentioned going to the Qunari, Isabela remembered that she’d promised to help out another friend today already. She was in quite a hurry to get to it, too.

Hawke paid it no mind. She was too busy being conflicted over the argument with Anders. Bethany and Varric had both asked what was wrong, and both times she evaded their questions. When Fenris saw this, he didn’t bother asking at all. If she wasn’t willing to talk, she wouldn’t talk. Just as long as Hawke was still able to get the job done, that was all that mattered.

Within moments of approaching the Arishok, Hawke realized why Fenris wanted to come. He—apparently—knew Qunlat, and caught the Arishok’s attention with it. Hawke was impressed.

Bethany had to hide a grin as she watched her sister admiring the elf. What she didn't conceal was a soft, sudden snort. Hawke barely noticed, and Bethany had tamed her amusement back to a straight face before her sister had the chance to look.

Javaris’ ploy was revealed quickly. Hawke nearly laughed when Fenris offered to kill the dwarf. He was clearly a harmless, spineless little man. Even the Arishok agreed that there was no need to waste any more energy on Javaris. He was about to let them all simply leave, but Hawke was going to make certain that Javaris honored the deal he’d made.

The Arishok was not pleased to hear that the dwarf incurred debts on his behalf. Javaris was forced to pay, and he did so handsomely. Between this and the reward they were sure to get for yesterday’s rescue operation, they were already much closer to their fifty sovereign goal. Hawke tried not to grin in front of the Qunari, who didn’t seem like the kind for smiling. Instead, they saw themselves out quietly and she allowed herself to celebrate once they were on the other side of the gate.

They did have job from the Prince—a thing which Hawke was still wrapping her head around—of Starkhaven, asking to eliminate a group of mercenaries, but it wasn’t terribly pressing and Hawke was still recovering from bouts with the Tal’Vashoth. They agreed to take it easy for the rest of the day. Fenris excused himself and left before the others. Hawke was disappointed, but supposed it was for the best. After all, she was remembering her promise to visit with Merrill.

Varric had already stopped by, making sure to look after Merrill, who wasn’t used to city living. But Hawke had kept busy with work. Bethany had wanted to meet Merrill as well, which made this a perfect time to go. Varric suggested stopping by the Hanged Man to get Isabela, too.

“It would be nice for Daisy to meet someone who doesn’t judge people so quickly,” he pointed out.

“True,” Hawke said. Neither Anders nor Fenris had been too excited to hear about a blood mage being in their midst. Aveline was more reserved in her distaste, but it was obviously there. Having Isabela around was a good idea.

Their pirate friend was not hard to find, and cheered when Hawke held out the four shiny sovereigns Javaris had given to them. Isabela asked for every detail about what happened at the compound, listening with more intent interest than Hawke had ever seen from her before. Unless someone was telling a dirty story.

“Oh yeah, by the way, how did that ‘thing’ with your ‘friend’ go?” Hawke asked, using air-quotes where applicable.

“Wha— Oh, you mean _that_ thing. Right. It was wonderful. Shall we go?” Isabela said.

Hawke looked back to Varric with a questioning glance, but the dwarf just shrugged and shook his head. Whatever was up with Isabela, no one knew for sure. There was no real need to pry and find out what was up with her, so Hawke tried to let it go. Her mind, however, refused, considering the many scandalous scenarios that would cause Isabela, the most shameless woman Hawke had ever known, to become so avoidant.

Merrill appeared at her door with a squeak. “Oh my, Hawke! Varric! Do come in, um, I’m afraid I’ve not enough chairs for so many people. I didn’t expect...I didn’t even know...did you mention something about Hawke coming to see me that I simply forgot about?” she said, looking to Varric for a response.

“Nope, she just decided on a whim that she wanted to see you,” Varric said with a slight laugh. “Hawke’s spontaneous like that.”

“I made a promise to see you, but I’ve been so busy. As soon as a moment freed up… I didn’t think you would mind,” Hawke said, halfway prepared to make an apology.

“I don’t! Mind, that is. I just wish I’d tidied up more. I’m so sorry about the mess,” Merrill said quickly. “And I’m supposed to offer you something, isn’t that right? I um, don’t really have…”

“It’s alright Merrill, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Hawke said, with a smile she hoped looked reassuring. “Also, I’d like to introduce you to a couple of people. This is my sister Bethany and this is Isabela, my...friend.” Hawke cursed herself internally for the hesitation that she was certain everyone noticed.

“Hawke, you didn’t tell me how adorable she is!” Isabela half-squealed as she stepped closer to Merrill. “Like a little kitten.”

“Oh I’m not...I mean, thank you,” Merrill said. Her face lit up into a bright pink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Merrill,” Bethany said, more composed than their pirate companion. “I’ve always wondered what the life of a mage among the Dalish must be like. Is it true that magic is treated like a gift among your people?”

“Well, the Keeper is always someone who possesses magic, and we all respect her. The ancient elves all had magic, so I suppose we cherish what we've lost. Just as we do with old artifacts,” Merrill said, eyes downcast. “I was First to my Keeper, before.”

“What does that mean?” Bethany asked.

“I was her...apprentice. In magic and in life. But we disagreed on a lot of things. Too many, I supposw. So I ended up here, instead,” Merrill said. She tried to sound cheery, but the pain in her voice was evident.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re here. It was becoming too much of a boys club for my liking,” Isabela said with a fake pout. “Not that I’m not used to it. The ship I captained had an all male crew. Though I made sure they knew how to treat a lady.” She winked at that.

“I don’t think I could stand being at sea for too long,” Merrill said. “Even just getting to Kirkwall by boat made me terribly ill.”

“You traveled in the hold, didn’t you?” Isabela asked. Merrill nodded a confirmation, and Isabela sighed dramatically. “That’s your problem. You need to be on deck, with the wind in your hair and the smell of the salty waters. It’s a rush like no other. Well, except a very proficient lover.”

For having called Merrill a kitten, Hawke thought Isabela seemed more like the cat. She held herself gingerly and exuded an air much like stalking prey. Except she wasn't planning to eat Merrill. Not, at least, in the way cats did with mice.

“That sounds...exciting,” Merrill said, voice dropping to almost a whisper. Hawke had yet to meet someone truly immune to the pirate’s charms.

They stayed a little while longer, hearing about Merrill’s experiences with the Alienage. Thankfully, she was such an optimist, she saw the muggings going on as “thrilling city life” and barely noticed the dangers she seemed to put herself in frequently. Hawke made a note to take Merrill along more often, to keep her out of trouble. If for no other reason.

Varric looked like he had a headache after all of those stories. He nudged Hawke and leaned towards her to whisper, “I’ve paid off a number of Coterie thugs to keep her safe.”

“Want me to pitch in?” Hawke offered, making sure to stay quiet so no one would overhear the private conversation.

“Focus on the expedition costs for now. Once that’s handled...maybe,” Varric said, massaging his forehead. “If you could also meet some people that didn’t shorten my lifespan, I’d appreciate it.”

“Maybe you’ll like the prince,” Hawke said.

Varric raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head. Whatever she was talking about, he would find out soon enough. That was a given.

They saw themselves out before too long, thanking Merrill for her hospitality. Bethany was actually very positive about the girl, even knowing what she did. Hawke reminded her that blood magic was something she did, not necessarily who she was. Bethany wasn’t really convinced, but then again, neither was Hawke. Whatever it took, they would keep her as safe as possible.

✖✖✖✖✖

The mercenaries turned out to be kind of pathetic. Hawke had Merrill along after yesterday’s series of mini heart attacks, as well as Isabela and Fenris. Merrill and Fenris was another meeting Hawke couldn’t put off forever, so having Isabela as a mediator seemed like a good idea. Varric would have filled that role, but he was off to look for other work they could pick up, in case this “prince’s” job didn’t pay as well as one would think. He refused to believe this wasn’t some kind of scam.

Fenris only turned antagonistic when he brought up the blood magic. Not that it took long for him to do so.

 _Hard not to be upset,_ Hawke thought. This was a case where it wasn’t just Fenris’ experiences, but the general consensus that maleficarum were bad news. Though Merrill was more than just her magic.

“I don’t need a lecture. I know what I’m doing. When Hawke warned me that you didn’t like mages, I hoped you would at least give me a chance before you made up your mind about me,” Merrill said, crossing her arms.

Fenris’ eyes immediately shifted to Hawke. She really did not like being on the receiving end of that glare.

“I just figured she should know,” Hawke said, throwing her hands up defensively. “I swear I didn't give details.

“You do like to overshare,” Isabela said with a smirk. “But that’s our darling Hawke. Clumsy and awkward. Some might even say she’s _Hawkeward._ ” She waggled her eyebrows, but slumped when the joke got no response. “Oh come on, Varric fell out of his chair when I told him that one.”

“Pr _eeee_ tty sure he was shitfaced at that point,” Hawke mumbled.

“Hey,” Isabela said, throwing an arm around Hawke. “I heard that, you.”

Merrill was now giggling and Fenris was turning away. The mood was lightened for now. Having Isabela along was turning out to be a great plan. That was, until Isabela started being...Isabela.

“You could really make a lot of coin with that magical fisting thing you do,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Fenris said.

“And I do love a man with tattoos. Loads of sailors get them,” Isabela said, eyeing him up shamelessly.

“Not with lyrium embedded into them, I’m sure,” Fenris said, pretending not to notice.

“Definitely not. Also usually they were different patterns. A heart on their upper arm, an anchor, or a buxom woman. One sailor I knew had to run away in the middle of getting his ink, so the artist had only completed the breasts!”

“I’m sure a pair of lyrium breasts tattooed onto my chest would make things better.”

“That’s me, I’m a helper,” she replied with pride. “Painful or not, they are rather beautiful. Don’t you think so, Hawke?”

Sarah Hawke felt her cheeks tingle with the start of a blush. She absolutely did not want to add her input here, no thank you. But the way she stiffened when Isabela mentioned her name proved she’d heard them. It wasn’t like Hawke could simply ignore them after that.

“W-well, they’re no breast tattoos,” Hawke said. Diffuse with humor and avoid all eye contact. Easy enough.

Isabela broke out with one loud “Ha!” then fell into a fit of smaller giggles. “You’ve got me there,” she said.

Because Hawke didn’t turn around, she couldn’t catch Fenris’ expression. Not that he was easy to read anyway, but she might have felt a little better had she known that he wasn’t glaring like he’d been before. Instead he looked curious, like he was considering something he’d only just noticed.

They’d gone all the way out to Sundermount and the Wounded Coast, rounding back to find the final mercenary hideout in the middle of the night at the docks. In that time, Hawke had varied from vaguely uncomfortable to thinly-veiled frustration. When Merrill asked if something was wrong, she waved it off as quick as she could.

“Oh, I’m just tired. Long day you know. We could all use some sleep,” Hawke said. She added a fake yawn just for show. It wasn’t too convincing, but no one cared to argue.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” Fenris said. “Goodnight, Hawke. Isabela.” He only looked in Merrill’s direction and nodded, with no further acknowledgement of her presence.

“He’s a bit prickly, isn’t he?” Merrill said.

“Fenris can...take a while to warm up to you. Give it time,” Hawke said. If she had to be honest, she didn’t even think time would help when it came to most mages. Only Bethany had managed to get past the heavily guarded walls Fenris had put up. Hawke knew, however, that Bethany was able to become friends with anyone. Because it was Bethany.

“Mmm, I’d like him to warm me up,” Isabela said. She noticed the look Hawke gave and added, “What?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Let’s all just go home,” Hawke insisted.

“Is it just me, or does Hawke seem a bit grumpy?” Merrill whispered, once Hawke was further away.

“Oh, it’s definitely not you, kitten. Don’t you worry your sweet little head about it, though. I’ll talk to her tonight,” Isabela said, then hurried to catch up with Hawke. “I know you’re tired, but do you think you could manage to steal yourself away for _one_ drink?”

“I don’t know, Iz...” Hawke started to say, but Isabela was prepared.

“Please? Varric said he’d go easy on you if we ended up playing Wicked Grace again,” Isabela said. Then to sweeten the pot, she added, “I’ll even pay for your first drink. That is a once in a lifetime offer, you have to know that.”

Hawke groaned. Whatever Isabela was after, she was persistent. A persistent Isabela would never, ever take no for an answer. (Unless nudity was involved, because she always respected consent.)

“Okay. One drink, but then I’m going home,” Hawke said. She knew it was a lie the moment it left her mouth, but even feigned defiance felt better than complete submission.

Merrill promised she could make it back to the Alienage on her own, even though Hawke had to keep her from walking the opposite direction at first. She hoped that Varric’s bribed thugs also gave the girl some directions home. Hawke wasn’t allowed to worry for too long, because Isabela pulled her towards the Hanged Man. She also grabbed Varric out of his room, quickly saying something vague about “the Hawke situation,” before sitting him down at their table.

“I will be off getting drinks, so why don’t the two of you talk while I see how many I can get men at the bar to buy for us. Which by the way, still counts as me getting them for you, Hawke,” Isabela said.

Hawke groaned and leaned on the table. That meant Isabela would take as long as she pleased, and Hawke wouldn’t be able to leave after one very quick drink. The night was young, so at least Hawke had the energy to deal with whatever it was Isabela wanted. She also had Varric’s company first, which was a relief.

“So I assume this is about the elf,” Varric said.

_Well fuck._


	8. Well-meaning Interlopers

“What makes you say that?” Hawke asked. Isabela must have said something. No way his first guess was just that spot on accurate.

“Well, you took him to meet Daisy tonight, didn’t you? You mentioned being worried about how he would handle himself,” Varric said.

Right. With Isabela around she’d nearly forgotten about Merrill. Actually, the good thing was, it was likely Fenris had mostly forgotten, too. Maybe even Merrill herself had managed to remain distracted enough from that portion of the evening not to dwell on it.

“He did surprisingly well, considering. I mean, Merrill isn’t argumentative like Anders is, so that helped. But I should probably thank Isabela for the distractions,” Hawke said. Though actually thinking about how most of the distracting was really flirting made her frown.

Plus, mentioning Anders reminded her that they still hadn’t gotten a chance to make up after their last big fight. Hawke hated that those had become more common with Anders. Especially because she had to admit that they’d started after he met Fenris. Hawke wasn’t sure they could ever get back to the friendship they’d had before, or if because of her attachment to Fenris, things would remain tense for good.

“Yet, you look terribly unhappy,” Varric said. “Listen, Hawke, I know you and the elf have gotten a little closer in the time that you’ve known each other but I have to admit, I’m worried.”

“About the lyrium tattoos? The slavers that might come after us because we’re protecting him? The mages that we happen to be friends with?” Hawke asked.

“Well, yes, but those are the obvious concerns. I’m more worried about _you,_ Hawke,” Varric said.

“Me? What am I going to do?” Hawke asked.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot of something. Either way, you have thought about how your feelings might be affecting you, haven’t you? I mean, that’s not something we can just ignore,” Varric said.

Hawke’s face lit up like dragon flame. She choked momentarily, coughing. Varric kept on smiling, his fingers neatly laced and resting on his beardless chin, elbows on the table.

“I...you...how?” Hawke sputtered.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t tell you’ve been giving him googly eyes most of the time he’s around,” Varric said. “And your eyelashes just happen to flutter at him when you ask him to help out with something? You just happen to blush when he says your name?”

“Oh, Maker…” Hawke said, burying her face in her hands. She’d only just known herself a few days ago, but from the way he talked, it sounded like Varric had known for quite a while.

“Come on, Hawke. A crush isn’t so bad. I just wanted to know what you intended to do about it,” Varric said. He was fighting the urge to tease her about it. Hawke was sure to get plenty of that when Isabela came back.

“Maybe nothing,” Hawke said, repeating Varric’s words from earlier. “I still barely know him. I mean, one long talk and a few very casual conversations in between killing bandits doesn’t really feel like enough.”

“Then we should work on fixing that,” Varric said. “Hawke, I am offering something I don’t offer to just anyone, I need you to understand that. But I am willing to be your official love coach, your wingman, your assistant in all things in the category of hearts and flowers. Not that I don’t trust that you could do this alone, but I am one of the best in the game.”

“You’re joking. Or teasing me. Or both,” Hawke said.

“Teasing, maybe a little, but I am serious about helping you. You’re my friend and I want to see you happy. Even if you being happy _happens_ to include a dangerous, broody elf with the ability to rip a man’s still beating heart out,” Varric said.

Hawke was mortified. But...Varric was pretty smooth, when he wanted to be. Which was pretty much all the time. He could help in the areas where she was awkward, push her in the right direction, and diffuse bad situations when her mouth skipped ahead of her mind as it could sometimes do. Hawke pondered, then reached a hand over the table.

“Deal,” she said. “But if you attempt to embarrass me I swear to Andraste…”

“Don’t you worry, Hawke,” Varric said, shaking her hand. “You can count on me.”

“Looks like something interesting just happened here,” Isabela said, drinks in hand. She had managed to carry seven full mugs of ale back to the table, all of them with no cost to her. “What did I miss?”

“Hawke has admitted that she has a crush on the elf,” Varric said.

“Varric!” Hawke shrieked in surprise.

“Merrill? She is awfully cute,” Isabela said with a devilish grin. She knew more than she let on.

“Not Daisy. Broody,” Varric clarified.

“You know, that does explain some things,” Isabela said, tapping her chin. “You did get awfully jealous tonight. At first it just seemed cute, but darling, it is definitely not healthy for you.”

Hawke crossed her arms, but not before taking a very cranky gulp of ale. “If you noticed then why did you keep doing it?” she asked.

“Doing what?” Isabela said, fluttering her lashes innocently.

“Flirting with him,” Hawke said, fighting a blush. It wasn’t working, so she took another drink, hoping to hide the flush from embarrassment with a flush from drunkenness.

“I was curious to see if you’d stop me. Or even if you’d join in yourself,” Isabela said with a shrug. “If you’re that worried about me and Fenris running off together, maybe you should take that as inspiration to jump his bones before anyone else gets the chance. At least try to make a move. I mean, I opened you up to compliment him and you completely failed on me. Pathetic.”

“I don’t think complimenting something he hates about himself is going to help matters,” Hawke insisted. “Although now that I hear myself say that thought out loud, it sounds kind of stupid. I just mean I’m concerned about pushing him into something when he’s been through so much.”

“Hawke, dear,” Isabela said slowly. “First of all, Fenris is a man, not a delicate Orlesian vase. He is not that fragile. Second, asking him out is not pressuring him. It’s just being honest about your feelings and taking a step in the right direction. Which hopefully, leads to the bedroom, because Andraste’s holy tits do you need to get laid.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know if I’m ready to go quite that far,” Hawke admitted. “Varric agreed that I should get to know him better.” She looked to the dwarf for support.

“I did agree, but you don’t want to move too slow either. Isabela isn’t the only woman in Kirkwall, you know,” Varric said.

“And I haven’t even agreed to back down completely, either,” Isabela said. “Though I will ease up on the flirting.”

“You are truly wicked, you know that?” Hawke grumbled. “Fine, what should I do then?”

“Invite him to come here some night. In fact, let’s invite everyone, make it a real party!” Isabela declared.

“I don’t know about that, Rivani. Might get kind of Hawkeward,” Varric said with a grin.

“Please stop that,” Hawke said. “My name is already a pun on its own. It doesn’t need your help in making it worse.”

“Varric is right, but that’s part of the fun. Our whole big, messy family together under one roof, getting drunk. And you can spend as much time with Fenris as you please,” Isabela said. “Plus, you can get to know him through other people. You don’t have to figure it out alone.”

“This sounds like a disaster, already,” Hawke said. “But maybe. Not like we’re going anywhere while we’re still short of the goal for the expedition.”

“Splendid,” Isabela said. “Now drink up, we’ve got more planning to do.”

They spent hours more talking and drinking. At first it was just figuring out when to get everyone together, and how to convince those that weren’t likely to be willing participants to actually show up. That quickly deteriorated into making fun of those who weren’t there (lovingly, of course). After that, it followed one unintelligible tangent into the next, until Isabela and Hawke were on the floor of Varric’s room, having decided that they were having a sleepover. Not that Varric had agreed to it, but he hadn’t told them not to, either. Which was enough of an excuse for the two ladies.

While Varric lied in bed, trying against all odds to fall asleep, Hawke and Isabela kept on talking. They were too drunk to form full, coherent sentences anymore, and most comments devolved into giggles after a few seconds. Hawke found herself back on the topic of Fenris, however.

“You know he has the most gorgeous eyes? Like, they’re green, and that is my favorite color. They are just so big and pretty and I can’t help but stare at them. And his hair? Is that the natural color? He has these dark eyebrows but then this snow white hair and it is really nice. I bet it’s soft, too. And his ears are just so cute and he has such beautiful dark skin and then his markings...I know its awful how he got them but I really did just want to tell him how absolutely handsome he is,” Hawke said, with barely a pause for breath.

Varric groaned from the other side of the room. He’d been grunting every few minutes for a while, the sound growing louder each time he made it. Isabela was sure he was close to the end of his rope, which only made her egg Hawke on.

“What about his voice?” Isabela suggested.

“His voice! Oh, Maker his voice is so sexy. It was the first thing I noticed about him when we met. I know he tends to be so polite all the time but all I want is for him to talk dirty to me,” Hawke said, rolling onto her back.

“Okay, that’s it,” Varric said, sitting up. “HAWKE! RIVANI! Please leave or I will have confusing sex dreams about the elf and I won’t be happy about it!”

Isabela was cackling, but started to stand up anyway. “Alright, Varric, we’re going,” Isabela said. She snorted and looked down at Hawke. “Come on, lovergirl, I’m taking you back to your uncle’s place.”

Hawke lifted her hands, but was deadweight when Isabela attempted to lift her. After a little bit of scolding, Hawke agreed to help by picking herself up. Isabela managed, once Hawke was standing, to get her safely home. They just took every step very slowly, especially on the stairs.

“Aveline’s gonna be mad at me,” Hawke mumbled when they were just outside Gamlen’s place.

“What was that?” Isabela asked.

“Aveline is gonna be mad. Because I promised I wouldn’t drink my feelings anymore,” Hawke said.

“Both of you should have known that was a promise you were never going to be able to keep,” Isabela said.

She left Hawke in the capable hands of Bethany, who just rolled her eyes and sighed at the sight of her inebriated sister. Bethany asked if Isabela would make it home okay. Isabela assured her she’d done far more complex things than walk home drunk. She didn’t mention that she didn’t technically have a home and would likely be heading straight back to Varric’s to crash on his floor for the night. Simpler than paying for a bed at the Hanged Man, that was for sure.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Hey, Anders,” Hawke said quietly.

Anders reeled around at the sound of her voice. He wasn’t sure he was hearing right, but there she was. Hawke didn’t look too good, though. Not that she didn’t look _good_ , but she didn’t look healthy. Anders hurried towards her, glad he wasn’t seeing any patients at the moment.

“Hawke!” he shouted, which only made Hawke wince.

“Holy Maker not so bloody loud,” Hawke said.

Anders slumped his shoulders, realizing what was wrong. “You’re hungover.”

“Surprise!” Hawke said, with a single pathetic jazz hand. She did remember most of the previous night, though they got a little fuzzy around drink six or seven. One thing that had remained was that she needed to make up with Anders as soon as possible. So seeing him was not just in vain hopes of curing the headache she had.

Anders asked her to sit down and wait for him to get something. When he returned, he had a cup of hot tea in his hands. Hawke cocked her head to the side.

“Is this...magic tea?” she asked.

“No, Hawke. Just regular tea. I am not using my magic to help you with a hangover. Not that I could do much anyway. But I’m not going to encourage this,” Anders said, crossing his arms.

“Encourage what?” Hawke said, a little too loud, which made her head hurt again. “Damn, I never got hangovers before. I must have really gone overboard last night.”

“That. That is what I’m not encouraging,” Anders insisted. “I don’t care how much fun you and Varric are having—”

“And Isabela.”

“And...what? No, nevermind, I don’t care. You need to take better care of yourself, and binge drinking is not good for you,” he finished.

“Message received, thank you for the lecture I didn’t ask for,” Hawke grumbled. She blew on the tea for a moment, then sighed. “No, no. Okay, start over. I’m sorry about that. And about a lot of other things that I’ve done wrong lately. And I know the lecture is probably Justice talking, because the Anders I know is no stick in the mud. But I want you to know that the hangover was a secondary reason for my being here. Mostly I just—ow, dammit—I just wanted to apologize because I miss you and I miss being close to you.”

Anders stared. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Being missed was a very wonderful feeling, especially when you missed that person right back. And by the Maker, had Anders missed Hawke.

He’d thought a number of times about just getting over himself and going to Lowtown to find her and apologize himself. Justice had amplified some of his worst traits. One of which was his self-righteousness, and because of that, he didn’t want to go to her, because then he’d have to admit that he was not entirely right. Anders also felt ashamed of the crueler things he’d said.

“I’m sorry, too, Hawke. You do deserve my time, you know that, right?” Anders said. “I know I’m not exactly the most rational person ever, especially when it comes to...that person, but that’s no reason for me to hurt you.”

“I knew you didn’t mean it,” Hawke said. “But thanks for the apology.”

Before he knew it, Anders was swooping down to hug her. Hawke was taken off guard by this, as well, but returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze. When he pulled away from her, he touched his middle and forefinger on his right hand to her forehead, allowing a green glow to flow from them. Hawke closed her eyes, focusing on the soothing sensation his magic brought. Then, Anders pulled his fingers back away.

“That is a one time thing, Hawke, understand? Next time you come to be hungover, it is the tea and nothing else,” he warned.

“At least you make pretty good tea,” Hawke said with a smile. “You want some good news while I’m here?”

“Always,” Anders said.

“We’re going to meet a prince today.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Completely serious. You wanna come with?”

“I don’t know. I’ve already met the king and queen of Ferelden. Some lousy prince can’t be nearly as exciting.”

“What if I told you,” Hawke said, “that he is the last survivor of his line, the rest of them recently assassinated by mercenaries we were personally hired to take out?”

“Oh, that is good. I’ll get my staff,” Anders said.

“I feel I should warn you,” Hawke said quickly, before Anders got too far. He stopped and looked back at her. “Fenris is going to be there, too. He was the one to pick up the job with me, so I thought he should be.”

Anders thought for a moment, then said, “Just Fenris?”

“No. Varric too.”

“I think I can handle that. Just don’t mind me if I focus on trying to pretend he doesn’t exist,” Anders said.

“Now, now,” Hawke said, wagging her finger. “Don’t go and hurt Varric’s feelings. He hates being ignored.”

Anders shook his head, but couldn’t hide the smile on his face. “You know who I meant,” he said.

On the way to Hightown, Hawke and Varric got Anders up to speed about everything he’d missed. Including the lyrium tattoos on Fenris’ body. Hawke had intended to tell him right after she confessed to revealing Anders’ secret, but with the argument, she’d not gotten the chance. Isabela was definitely right about oversharing. Hawke needed better self-control.

“Just, be nice about it, please? It was a traumatic experience and I’m pretty sure they still give him a lot of pain,” Hawke said.

“I was thinking of just not mentioning it?” Anders said.

“Even better,” Varric approved.

Fenris almost smiled for a moment when he saw Hawke, but any chance of that happening flew out the window when he noticed Anders. His expression fell back to its usual glowering.

Anders didn’t appear too pleased either, but expressed it with smugness instead of anger. Internally he was saying, “Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.” But he’d promised to try and be nice, so for Hawke’s sake, Anders just grinned.

They took the short trip from there to the Chantry, where they looked for Sebastian Vael. He wasn’t difficult to locate, his shiny white armor practically glowing. Even if he was just wearing regular armor, it would still stand out among the members of the Chantry in their long robes. Now that Hawke was up close, she could see his striking blue eyes. They were pretty, but Hawke couldn’t help but think that they just weren’t green.

“Excuse me, are you Sebastian? My name is Sarah Hawke. We took care of the Flint Mercenaries for you,” she said, holding out the paper he had posted a few days ago.

“I...the Grand Cleric left that up?” Sebastian asked. Hawke nodded, but he still stared in disbelief. “Even if she had, I didn’t think anyone would actually do it. Thank you. I cannot even begin to express my gratitude. Perhaps now my parents can rest easy in their graves.”

“No problem. It’s what we do,” Hawke said. “So, are you really a prince?”

“Yes. Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Vael, prince of Starkhaven. Though Her Grace would rather I start with the fact that I’m a brother of the Chantry and stop there,” Sebastian said. “But with all that’s happened, I’m not sure I can be just that anymore.”

“Being a prince sounds much better than being a priest, no offense,” Hawke said.

“And none taken. Most people would share that belief with you,” Sebastian admitted. “Now that you’ve killed those mercenaries, I no longer need to fear for my life, as they were surely planning to come for me next. Then again, without knowing who hired them, the true assassins could surely just send more men after me.”

“Because you’re in line for the throne?” Hawke asked.

“Technically, yes, but things are more complicated than that. I’ve sworn oaths to the Chantry and a distant cousin currently rules over Starkhaven. He’s not that bright, likely no more than a pawn in a larger plot, but I’m not sure I’ve really the right to challenge his rule anymore,” Sebastian said. “I apologize, I should not fill your mind with these concerns.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I’m just glad we were able to help,” Hawke said.

“For that, I am eternally grateful. Here, some coin for what you’ve done for me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see if the viscount will offer aid to a neighboring city,” Sebastian said, bowing his head slightly. “If you wish to speak again, I will usually be here in the Chantry. Andraste guide your steps.”

He left ahead of the rest of them. Hawke immediately turned around to the others to see what they thought.

“He was so well spoken! Right Varric?” Hawke said.

“And he would choose the life of a brother over that of a prince,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

“At least his armor was shiny. Makes a good mirror in a pinch. Though he would be the only one who couldn’t use it,” Anders said. “Tragic, really.”

“I don’t know that he’d really stay a brother,” Hawke said. “He seems too concerned about Starkhaven to really just leave it be.”

“Plus he’d have to remain chaste all his life,” Anders said. “I never understood why the Maker was so concerned with what his disciples did in the bedroom.”

Hawke shrugged. She didn’t really want to comment on that when they were still in the Chantry. They would likely get struck by lightning for blaspheming. Well, and she didn’t think she could talk about sex in front of Fenris and not become flustered.

“Let’s get out of here before someone asks us to repent for our sins or something,” Hawke insisted.

On the way out, she stared at her hand. Four more bright, shiny sovereigns graced her palm. With that, they had more than enough to fund Bartrand’s expedition. She pointed this out to Varric, who then shared her wide grin. He lead the way to where he knew Bartrand could be found, moving quicker than Hawke had ever seen him go.

“Brother! I’ve excellent news for you,” Varric said, lifting his arms like he was about to go in for a hug, but then thought better of it. “I’ve brought you a business partner. Meet Sarah Hawke. And yes that’s Sarah, not serah.”

“Varric, we don’t need partners. I told you that already. We just need a few idiots who can swing around swords at any approaching darkspawn,” Bartrand insisted.

Anders leaned over to Hawke and whispered, “That’s the recruitment motto for the Grey Wardens.” Hawke had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Bartrand, you and I both know you don’t have the coin to fund this or a way into the Deep Roads that isn’t crawling with those monsters. You need Hawke,” Varric argued. “Go on, show him.”

“Fifty sovereigns and some Grey Warden maps with four different lovely entrances. Pick your favorite one and go from there,” Hawke said.

Bartrand’s eyes widened. “The coin I’ll need to count but, this? How did you even get these?”

“A wizard did it,” Anders said. Again, Hawke tried not to giggle.

“The two of you are in a disturbingly good mood today,” Fenris commented.

“Something wrong with that?” Anders said, the slightest of creases starting in his brow.

“I simply wondered what might have caused the change,” Fenris said. He was looking at Hawke. Of course he’d noticed her foul mood the other day. It was hard to miss.

“Let’s just say it involved a lot of ale and two very patient friends, in my case,” Hawke said, winking at Varric. He returned the sentiment.

“I’m just happy that Hawke is happy,” Anders said. For some reason, Hawke thought it sounded like a challenge.

“As am I,” Fenris said. In comparison, he sounded bored. Somehow, that seemed to upset Anders more. Hawke had to nudge him to remind him of his promise to play nice. It wasn’t like Fenris was antagonizing him. At least, he wasn’t trying to, for the moment.

“If all of you are done,” Bartrand said loudly, widening his stance to appear more commanding, “I’ve more business to attend to before we can truly leave. Get your own group prepared. I won’t have you bringing tons of people along, either. Can’t afford the extra mouths to feed. I expect Varric, Hawke, and two others.”

“One of those has to be Bethany,” Hawke said. “She would never let me hear the end of it if I left her behind.”

“You sure about that? It is the Deep Roads, Hawke. She could get seriously hurt,” Anders warned.

“Both of us have faced darkspawn before. Technically so has Aveline, but I doubt she has a lot of aspirations to face them again after what happened to her husband,” Hawke said. Though she didn’t admit it, Anders had a point. Maybe bringing Bethany wasn’t the best idea after all. “You’ll come with me regardless, right? Can’t have me getting in trouble, again.”

“If it were anyone but you, I’d refuse. But Hawke, if I am needed, I will follow you,” Anders swore.

“So sincere,” Hawke said. “I think that’s the first time you actually sounded like you could have been a Grey Warden.”

Anders shook his head after that jab. With Bartrand giving them more time, they could take a little while to relax, except that Hawke had just relinquished all her coin to the dwarf and only had a sovereign or two to spare. She’d wanted to get better gear for some of her friends before she left for the Deep Roads, and her family still needed money to eat. Hawke felt like work would be never ending. At least there was always something new to do.

Proving that point was Merrill, who was running at them full speed. Hawke was just impressed that she’d found her way to Hightown by herself, though she did notice the trail of twine behind the girl. Thank the Maker for Varric Tethras and his clever ideas.

“Hawke! Elgar’nan, I’m so glad I found you. There’s a woman in the Alienage, she used to be Dalish, like me. That’s not the point though, she’s in trouble! Or rather, her son is. He’s a mage and he’d been having these awful nightmares in the Fade. Surely your sister has told you about dreaming in the Fade?” Merrill said. When she got started, there was really no stopping her.

“Yes. Bethany got scared of the demons there when she was really little and insist on sleeping in my bed or Carver’s,” Hawke remembered. “Oh, but don’t tell her I mentioned that. She’d probably be embarrassed that you knew.”

“I promise I won’t. But her son, Feynriel, he’s also half human. She’s worried the boy might have gone to see his father. Or something worse, like the templars found him! Hawke, we have to help!” Merrill insisted. She looked around for support.

“Of course we’ll help. I’m sure she’s terrified, not knowing what happened,” Hawke said. “Did she say where we could find Feynriel’s father?”

“In the Lowtown marketplace. He’s got a shop there,” Merrill said.

“Let’s go right now, then.” Hawke said.

Merrill nodded, already starting to follow her twine back towards Lowtown. Hawke hoped it didn’t take a longer route, but stayed by Merrill just in case she needed the protection. Varric was always on board with whatever Hawke wanted, so she wasn’t worried about him. Anders was probably just happy to finally be doing something good for mages, which was why she caught him beaming. Fenris was...impossible to read.

When you always look kind of grumpy, it’s hard to tell when you’ve changed from generally displeased to actually irate. He hadn’t made any verbal complaint yet, which was a good sign. Maybe he was hoping they would take Feynriel to the Circle? Hawke knew it was an option, and perhaps the best one if demons were really starting to plague the boy’s mind. They could train him, help him understand his abilities better.

However, they could also choose to kill him or, worse yet, make him Tranquil. Hawke knew that Kirkwall’s Circle was a lot more liberal in their use of the Right of Tranquility. Karl had been turned Tranquil, supposedly for “rebelliousness.” Malcolm Hawke hadn’t liked to tell his children about the Tranquil, as it might make Bethany more afraid than she needed to be. Still, what he did tell them was that it was only for mages who were known to be struggling with their magic and suspected to fail their Harrowing. One could also volunteer to be made Tranquil, but Hawke doubted that was usually the case.

Knowing that Feynriel was struggling was what made the decision hard. A talented mage could be safe on his own, resisting the call of demons with the strength of an iron will. Bethany had proven that to Hawke long ago. However, a mage that had trouble with their power could easily fall into a demon’s trap, becoming an abomination and a threat. It wasn’t like they could just set him free without guidance.

But Hawke believed in mages and their right to freedom. She couldn’t turn him in knowing what might happen. First she had to find him. Then, she’d figure out a solution that worked for everyone. She had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the editing process in my head…
> 
> me: I don’t think jazz exists in this universe, which means jazz hands definitely wouldn’t  
> also me: so?  
> me: So it doesn’t make any sense to—  
> also me: *blowing raspberries and gesturing rudely*  
> me: Oh, _real_ mature.
> 
> The jazz hand stayed.


	9. Where I Stand

Vincento, Feynriel’s father, was an ass. A complete and total ass. Within seconds of approaching him, he was hitting on Hawke, and when she shut him down quickly, he tried moving on to Merrill. To be fair, he was Antivan, and Hawke knew to expect no less of them after hearing her old teacher’s less appropriate stories. That didn’t mean it couldn’t annoy her.

“You haven’t been there for your son. Take this chance to do the right thing. Help us find him. Look,” Hawke said, gesturing back to Merrill and Anders, “I have two mages in my company. I won’t harm Feynriel.”

“You’re a friend of mages? That’s not a popular stance in Kirkwall, you must know,” Vincento said. “Alright, in that case, you should speak with Ser Thrask. He should be in the Gallows. I really don’t know anything else, I swear. I didn’t even know I had a son until he came to me.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said. “Now try to do some good with your life.”

Hawke was driven today. She would not allow anything bad to happen to another mage child. Not if she had anything to say about it. A person doesn’t need a Fade spirit in them to know what justice is.

They made their way to the Gallows quick as they could. Anders and Merrill were talking strategy, what to do if this templar they were sent to find didn’t cooperate, then what to do with Feynriel once they found him. Varric stood close to them, being the voice of reason whenever one of their ideas was too risky or simply unrealistic. Hawke hoped they figured out a plan for Feynriel. She was still not sure what would be best for the boy.

They were closing in on the Gallows when Fenris said, “This is...not like the Circles in Tevinter.”

“What are they like there?” Hawke asked.

“It used to be like it is here. The Chantry watched the magisters closely for signs of corruption or weakness. Then, it changed. Magisters were allowed to watch over their own while templars were kept only to enforce the law. It was inevitable that things would become the way they are now. The Magisters rule again, powerful as they ever were,” Fenris said. His eyes had not left the gilded statues of weeping slaves.

“Why did it change?” Hawke said.

“The attitude towards magic is different in Tevinter. Mages come from powerful families that nurtured magical talent for generations. These mages aren’t peasants, but the scions of noble houses,” Fenris explained.

“Didn’t Andraste take the power from the Magisters? I thought that the Chantry would have made that impossible,” Hawke said.

“They conquered the south, not the north. The Imperium did surrender to her armies, but on their terms. They were able to keep their influence.”

“Are all Magisters as bad as Danarius?” Hawke asked. Fenris finally looked over to her, drawing a little closer.

“I would hope not. Perhaps some are good men who are able to resist temptation,” Fenris said. “Not that I met any of those. Blood magic is everywhere in Tevinter, from lowly apprentices up to the archon himself. In public, it’s forbidden and everyone will deny its use, but behind closed doors, it is a different story.”

“Surely there’s still a better way than just locking them up like criminals,” Hawke said. “Something better than Circles, without letting things get to the way they are in Tevinter.”

“If there is such a solution, I do not know it. In my experience, mages will seek power at any cost. No matter what cause they claim to serve, justice, revenge, protection, even their own power, it becomes too easy to excuse forbidden magics to achieve their goals,” Fenris said.

Hawke could not argue with that. Not with Anders and Merrill, two cases of exactly that, standing behind them. Regardless of why they did what they had, both of them had gained power from things the Chantry would certainly frown upon. Fenris was likely thinking the same thing, as he glanced back at them as well.

“Will they be safe here?” he asked.

“They might actually blend in more here than anywhere else in Kirkwall. People expect to see mages in the Gallows,” Hawke pointed out.

“I suppose that is true,” Fenris said, nodding once.

“Was that...concern?” Hawke said quietly.

“You would not wish to see them harmed,” Fenris said. “I asked for your sake, not theirs.”

Hawke couldn’t help but smile a little. “Still… Thank you,” she said.

“I have done nothing that is worthy of thanks,” Fenris insisted, looking away.

Hawke wanted to giggle. His denial was cute, in a way.

They moved quickly to find Ser Thrask after that. They were directed towards a very tall man with red hair, dressed in the typical templar armor. He had these sad but kind eyes which Hawke would not think suited his work. To her family, templars had been a sort of boogeyman that could take Bethany or their father away. Boogeymen were not meant to take pity on people.

Ser Thrask was not the average templar, however. At first, he expressed similar concerns that Vincento had before. Even when they gained his trust, it turned out he didn’t know much more than the others. Still, they were able to move onto the next breadcrumb on the trail to finding Feynriel. They had to find a man named Samson at night in Lowtown, which was good, because by the time they made their way back to the rest of Kirkwall, the sun was starting to set.

Samson was a former templar, supposedly now helping mages fleeing the Circle. Something told Hawke the story didn’t end there, however. Especially after she met him.

“Did Feynriel come to you? Please, I have to know where he is,” Hawke insisted.

“Yeah, Vincento’s boy, eh? Poor blighter was dead broke, nothing I could do for him. Help one mageling for free and I’ll never see another silver in the light of day,” Samson said.

“I pity anyone so desperate they need to turn to you,” Anders said with a scowl.

“Don’t get your knickers all in a twist. I told him to look for Reiner, a ship captain. Sent another girl to him not too long ago, but things may have gone wrong. Been hearing rumors that both of them got taken captive instead,” Samson admitted.

“Please tell us we haven’t come too late,” Merrill pleaded.

“If you’re determined to go looking for him, try going dockside. You’ll find Reiner there. Ask him for yourself,” Samson said.

“As if he’d just tell us that he ransomed them off to the templars,” Varric said.

“Thrask would have known if that had happened, surely,” Hawke said, though even she was unconvinced.

They had to find Feynriel, and now this other mage kid if they could. Hawke was down the stairs in seconds, making her way to the docks fast as she could go. This was starting to feel like a wild goose chase.

It was a feeling only made worse when they stumbled into the part of the docks where Reiner was said to be. It was full to the brim with thugs, but worse, because they bore the telltale signs of slavers. Hawke was furious, allowing her rage to push her forward into the fight.

Fenris fought similarly, not caring to go easy on these awful people. While Hawke took out targets to their right, he swerved left, cleaving through a group of slavers all at once. Varric and the two mages were able to fight from a distance, leaving Hawke and Fenris a wide breadth to attack wildly. Anders’ eyes were fixed on Hawke the whole time, watching for the next time she got a nick or a cut.

Hawke circled the enemy, rounding them into a bunch like cattle. Merrill took the chance to use a spell that spread over the lot, affecting a number of the slavers. They screamed in horror as their legs were taken by vines, crushing their bones and immobilizing them. Hawke did the honors of slicing their throats to finish them off.

A scream in a room upstairs threw Hawke off, and one of the thugs shoved her to the side. He attempted to bring his sword down, stabbing through her, but Anders was ready with a well-placed fireball. The guy fell, crying in agony as his flesh burned. Hawke nodded to Anders in thanks, then scrambled up the stairs towards the source of the scream. Anders hurried off to follow her, leaving Varric screaming after the both of them.

“There’s still some assholes here to deal with!” Varric said. He grunted, knowing they were going to ignore him no matter what he said. “Bianca, let’s finish this.”

A bolt flew through one enemy into the next, taking out two men with one shot. Varric cheered. Merrill smiled over at him then quickly fired off shots of spirit magic at a slaver, weakening him until Fenris could finish the job. They took care of the rest within a minute, then collectively paused to catch their breaths.

But Fenris only just noticed that Hawke was gone.

“Where’s Hawke?” he asked, looking at the other two. “And Anders?”

“There was a scream upstairs. They went to investigate,” Varric said, breathing heavily.

Fenris did not wait for the other two, or bother with asking them to follow. He hurried up the stairs. Merrill and Varric sighed together and forced themselves to go after him.

In the meantime, Hawke and Anders had been dealing with the situation upstairs. There was a mage girl who one of the slavers had taken by the hair. She sobbed and screamed for mercy; for them to let her go.

“Bind her hands,” the slaver commanded. “She can’t do magic without them, I think.”

“Release her!” Hawke cried, brandishing her daggers. Anders stood beside her, his staff at the ready.

“Who in the bloody…? Kill those idiots, would you?” the slaver said, gesturing with his head. He tossed the mage girl to the ground, slamming her face against the hard floor.

“No!” she screamed. She brought her hands up to her arms, clawing into them deep. With a flash of light she rose again, but her body was misshapen and gnarled. Her skin looked rubbery and wrinkled, a hunched mass in her back. The mage girl had become an abomination.

“You know nothing of magic,” the creature bellowed. It ripped into the slaver that was closest. The others froze in place, terrified at this display. It gave Hawke the opportunity to stab them both in the back.

“No,” Anders whispered, staring up at the abomination.

“Nothing we can do for her now but free her,” Hawke said. Anders nodded, eyes appearing hollow.

They started the fight together, only to be joined by the others. Fenris released a grunt of recognition when he saw the abomination, and charged forward. Varric supported the others by striking the remaining slavers who had been cowering towards the back of the room. No one involved in their operation was worth sparing.

Hawke was having a bit of trouble. The thick, leathery skin of the abomination made it easy for her daggers to get stuck. Even just quick cuts to bleed it didn’t help much. She turned to Anders.

“Try to freeze it!” she shouted.

Anders nodded, raising his staff as he gathered his mana. He thought of the ice and cold, then shot forth a blast of magic. The abomination was wounded and slowed, but not frozen solid. It would have to do, however, as Anders was falling down, leaning on one knee. Fenris and Hawke were able to cause more damage while also getting away before the abomination could retaliate. With one final swing of Fenris’ blade, the creature fell dead.

“That poor girl… She was terrified,” Anders said after a long moment of silence.

Hawke was staring down at the thing. It looked so inhuman, so completely alien. This was what mages turned to when they grew desperate? This was what Tevinter mages allowed to happen just for power? Hawke was having a hard time wrapping her head around it. She crouched down, searching the body in stiff movements.

“What are you doing?” Anders asked, stepping forward like he might stop her.

“Looking to see if there’s any clue to who she was,” Hawke said. _Fuck,_ she thought. The first threat of tears was starting up, and she couldn’t tell if it was misery or shock that caused them. Hawke rubbed her eyes roughly, then continued to search. “She probably had parents. Maybe siblings. Someone who loved her.” It had happened so fast…

“Hawke,” Fenris started, but he couldn’t think of something to comfort her. He was bitter at the sight of the abomination, a reminder of the failures of mages, but Hawke’s compassion saw past that. Fenris knew she saw the person beneath the magic. “Is this the first time you’ve faced an abomination?”

“No,” Hawke said. “But it’s the first time I’ve seen a mage turn into one.”

She lifted a paper from the body, crumpled and folded four times. Hawke attempted to smooth it out to make it easier to read. She covered her mouth in shock when she read the name of the sender at the bottom of the page.

“She was Ser Thrask’s daughter,” Hawke breathed. “That’s why he wanted to help with Feynriel. His own child is...was a mage.”

The rest of them were just as surprised. Hawke stood, marching over to the chest the slavers kept. In it were messages from others involved in the operation. She scanned the multitudes of pages for information on Feynriel, stopping when she saw yesterday’s date and something about “a half-breed.” That had to be him.

“We’ve got another lead. This one goes to Darktown, with a rendezvous in the morning. We’ll be there to intercept it. With luck they’ll have Feynriel there,” Hawke said. “If not...we will make them talk.”

The others nodded. It was an unhappy trip home for the night. There was nothing to be done until morning, but all four of Hawke’s companions agreed to accompany her when the time came. Despite needing to go different directions, everyone insisted on seeing Hawke home. Fenris was still the first to split off, though he did tell Hawke not to feel too guilty.

“Becoming an abomination was her mistake, not yours. You did everything you could to help her. It is not your fault that she turned to blood magic,” Fenris said.

“And I’m sure you think she was just a weak, pathetic mage for what she did?” Anders said.

“I think she was desperate, and desperate people often make foolish choices. Though most of those choices don’t involve inviting a demon into your body,” Fenris said.

“Don’t you see that she wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t feel the need to run from the Circle in the first place? The only reason she wound up there was because she was trapped!” Anders spat.

“Come on, you two,” Varric said. “We should all go home for tonight. Leave the debates for when we have more energy.”

Fenris and Anders exchanged glares, then the elf took off towards Hightown. Hawke stared after him as he left. She felt Varric patting her back gently. Fenris would be back to help tomorrow. She would see him soon.

“It doesn’t matter how civil I try to be,” Anders said, kicking the ground and starting up a small cloud of dust, “he will always hate us for what we are. It doesn’t matter that the girl was crying for help.”

“He didn’t see her then,” Hawke said.

“And he couldn’t figure out from everything else we saw that she had a reason for what she did!?” Anders argued.

“Anders, please,” Hawke said. She didn’t want to start crying again, but it was too late. “I’m on your side. You should know by now where I stand. I just...can’t do this. Not right now, alright?”

Anders face shifted from anger to concern. He threw his arms around Hawke, drawing her in close. It was too much for her. She leaned her face into the feathers on his robes and just let herself wail, her voice muffled against him. Hawke was shaking. She was so angry, so hurt, and so scared. What they had just faced was something she’d always been afraid of. If her sister wasn’t so strong, that could have been Bethany.

Merrill was staring at her toes. Varric took her arm and offered to see her home, for which Merrill was incredibly grateful.

“But, what about Hawke? Will she be alright?” Merrill whispered, leaning over all the way so she could reach down to Varric’s ear.

“If I know Blondie, he won’t rest until she is. Hawke’s in good hands,” Varric said. Really, he was more worried for Anders than Hawke, but it was impossible to mention that without having to explain their whole strange dynamic to Merrill. That would be exhausting, and Varric was already tired. He waved a hand for her to follow him down to the Alienage. He took the long way around to give Hawke and Anders more time to collect themselves.

Anders ran a hand down Hawke’s dark hair, guilt striking him in waves. He was supposed to be the one to look after Hawke, and here she was sobbing on his shoulder. Not that he minded having her close, but that wasn’t the best thought to be having now.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I pushed again. He was actually trying to say something nice, I think. He just said it in an awful way. But he was right about it not being your fault.”

“I know that,” Hawke mumbled. It was a good thing she was close, or Anders might not have heard her. “I just… I’ve never seen the change before. When you show up and they’re already an abomination, it just seems like another disgusting monster to slay. No big deal. But seeing the person they were before… It hurts, Anders.”

He continued to run a hand down her hair, petting her as she devolved into a fit of sniffles. Once she was calm enough, Hawke pushed away from Anders. He watched her as she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“Sorry about your feathers,” Hawke said, with a little chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it. You actually might have cleaned them, considering the nasty things in Darktown that cling to my clothes,” Anders said. He made a dramatic disgusted face, which made Hawke laugh. Anders smiled at his success.

“I should go,” Hawke said. “Bethany will...I should talk to Bethany about today.”

Anders nodded. “She’ll understand. And don’t worry about the other mage. I know we’ll find him. I swear it,” Anders insisted.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Hawke said.

✖✖✖✖✖

Danzig was not only horrible, but he was also really annoying. They’d only just stepped up, without the opportunity to even say Feynriel’s name before Danzig was giving the order to capture Hawke and her companions. She crossed her arms and looked to Fenris.

“Make him talk,” she said.

“I can do that,” Fenris replied, flaring blue. A mage and a slaver? Danzig was practically gift wrapped for Fenris.

He reached into the slaver’s chest, a tight grip around the man’s heart, then released him and watched Danzig fall to the ground. Fenris’ tattoos retained their glow as Danzig gasped for air.

“Andraste’s great flaming ass. What was that?!” Danzig asked.

“It’s a talent of his. Now, Feynriel. Where is he?” Hawke said.

“I...the boy, of course! I stashed him in a cave on the Wounded Coast. It’s a smuggler hideout. People were coming from Tevinter to collect him later today,” Danzig said. “See? I cooperated. Now c-can I go?”

Hawke tapped her chin, looking from Fenris to the cowering little man in front of them. She nodded to Fenris without a word, and he finished the job.

“I don’t think so,” Hawke said. She disappeared into a cloud of smoke, rushing behind the men who were beginning to charge. Two of them fell quickly, gifted with Hawke’s daggers in their backs. She released them before just barely maneuvering backwards to evade an incoming attacker. Fenris took that one out for her.

It didn’t matter even when reinforcements showed up for the slavers. Hawke’s friends were powerful. With the five of them together, they were practically unstoppable. Fenris was so quick, even with that giant sword he lugged around, and ripped into their attackers without mercy. He was less attentive than usual. Hawke had to be particularly careful to stay out of the way of his wilder swings. Hawke waited until after the battle to call Fenris on it.

“Hey, are you feeling alright?” Hawke asked. “You seem a lot more pissed off than usual.”

“It’s nothing,” Fenris said. “Let’s just find the boy.”

Anders put a hand on Hawke’s shoulder and said, “He’s always this angry.”

“No, he isn’t,” Hawke said, rolling her shoulder to get out of Anders’ grip. Even when he was furious, Fenris was not sloppy. “I think something’s wrong.”

“Whatever it is, he had better not hurt you,” Anders said, glaring off at the elf.

Hawke sighed. She shouldn’t have mentioned it to Anders. Now he just had another thing to worry about and another reason to be mad at Fenris. Like he needed more.

They left for the Wounded Coast immediately, following a map they’d found in Danzig’s belongings. The cave was a small offshoot, lower to the ground. Part of it likely fell below the waterline.

There were no guards posted outside, likely to evade suspicion. Almost as soon as they stepped inside, however, they faced a charge of thugs working for the slavers. Most of them were weaklings, just fodder for the group. They cut through each of their attackers, then pushed further into the cave.

“Halt!” a voice boomed. Hawke looked up to see a pale young man in the grips of a much larger, much older man. She guessed the younger was Feynriel, as he had a knife at his throat. “Take no step further, or the boy dies.”

“Do you even know who that is?” Hawke asked.

“I know he’s going to make someone a nice little slave, that’s what I know,” the large man said with a full belly laugh.

Fenris’ markings flashed blue for a moment, but Hawke held out a hand. She had a plan. They needed to make sure Feynriel was safe before they could do anything more. Only then would she let Fenris tear them apart.

“Varric, please inform our friend who exactly he is threatening to kill?” Hawke directed him. The dwarf was all too pleased to play along with this scheme.

“Frankly, I’m surprised none of your goons have recognized the Viscount’s only son. He’s been looking all over for him, and I doubt he’ll be happy if he hears about this,” Varric said, tutting as he shook his head.

“The Viscount’s what? No one said nothing about that,” the large man insisted. The fear in his eyes was obvious. “I ain’t heard that.”

“Perhaps we can work something out. Let the boy go. Give him to us and the Viscount doesn’t even have to know you were involved,” Varric said.

“No. No, I don’t believe you. I’m not letting this one go,” the man said.

“Well, you had your chance,” Hawke said with a shrug. She tossed one of her daggers at him, and it sank right into the man’s forehead. Feynriel shrieked and slipped out of his grasp, before running somewhere to hide.

Hawke slid into the long shadows the cave cast, hurrying up the stairs to retrieve her second dagger. But with the creak of the wood, one of the thugs noticed her, and tried to swing at Hawke. It was a narrow miss, but she’d also backed herself into the wall. Hawke ducked down and swept his legs from under him, causing the attacker to fall. She stabbed him before scurrying over to the large man’s corpse.

“Good to have you back, Petunia,” Hawke said to the dagger. “Opal and I missed you terribly.”

“Is that really what you named them?” Anders shouted over the fighting.

“Nope! Made that up just now!” Hawke said. She slid to the side, causing the man who had been running up behind her to stumble over the small cliff’s edge.

Merrill handled the rest, sucking the life out of him to heal the wounds she’d sustained. That was a spell that always made Hawke shiver.

Hawke took care of the two remaining thugs up where she was, while the rest of them finished off the ones on the ground. She joined the fray once her part was done, hoping to help Fenris without getting in his way this time. Maybe she’d just imagined the change before?

Then Hawke just barely leapt out of the way of Fenris’ sword. It was real, alright. She’d not seen him this enraged since the first time they met. It couldn’t just be because these men were slavers. He’d helped her fight the men in the Amell estate without losing control. That meant that there was something else to it.

When the fighting was over, Feynriel emerged from hiding, shivering with fear.

“He almost killed me!” Feynriel shouted. “And your dagger could have hit me, too. I mean, thank you for your help, but you could have missed.”

“If I thought there was a chance I would miss my target, I wouldn’t have even tried that stunt,” Hawke assured him.

“Thank the Creators that you’re safe!” Merrill cheered, hurrying forward. “Your mother was so worried about you. Now we can tell her you’re alright.”

“No! Please, I can’t go back. She wanted to send me to the Circle,” Feynriel said. “All my life she protects me, then a few bad dreams and it’s ‘off to the templars!’”

“That sounds like the sensible choice for a mage struggling with his power,” Fenris said.

“If we send him to the Circle now, we may as well have just let the slavers get away,” Anders said.

“Weren’t you and Merrill discussing a better option yesterday?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, yes!” Merrill said, clapping her hands together. “I realized that he might find peace among my clan. His mother was once Dalish. The Keeper could teach you all you need to know.”

“B-but I’m half-human, too. I’ve got these flat ears...I don’t even look that elven,” Feynriel said. His large, sad eyes were the most tell tale sign of his mixed heritage.

“True, it would be difficult, but the Dalish wouldn’t threaten to make you Tranquil,” Hawke said. “This should be your decision, Feynriel. I don’t think it’s really my place to tell you what to do.”

“Then...I’ll go. To the Dalish. Can you help me get there?” Feynriel asked.

“Absolutely,” Hawke said with a smile.

“He still gets trained and no one gets locked up. Everybody wins,” Anders said.

“Yes, because we don’t know of any Dalish mage who went astray,” Fenris said.

“I know you’re talking about me, Fenris. You don’t need to hide it,” Merrill said.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Fenris said.

Hawke nudged Varric, looking to him for help. The dwarf shook his head. Those three would never get along. Hawke just had to live with that.

Hawke let Merrill take the lead on the way to Sundermount, though Varric quickly stepped up to make sure they actually went the right way. They talked with Feynriel about the Dalish, letting him know about everything he could learn among them. Anders had questions about the dreams Feynriel had, trying to see if there was any distinct difference between them and the nightmares that every mage experienced in the Fade. Hawke was glad that the other four had a good distraction. It made it easy for her to hang back with Fenris.

“So I know you said you were fine, but you nearly hit me back there. If something’s bothering you, I’d like to help, if I can,” Hawke offered.

“I can't always account for you when you move so unpredictability,” Fenris said, his brow deeply furrowed. But he met her eyes and softened. “But...I am sorry. Truthfully, my attention was elsewhere.”

“It’s alright. I’m just worried because that’s really out of the ordinary for you,” Hawke said. She paused, and when he didn’t respond, she added, “It wasn’t something I did, was it?”

Fenris looked at her quizzically. “What makes you think that?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to be sure. I’m not the best with words all the time. I tend to upset people without meaning to. I could have said something awful and not even realized,” Hawke admitted.

“It is not you, Hawke,” Fenris said quickly, then paused. “No, I suppose that’s not entirely correct. I promised to help you in whatever way you needed, but I did not think you would have me freeing mages.”

“I know,” Hawke said. “It’s my fault. I’m being kind of...selfish.”

“Because you are close to mages?” Fenris asked.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Hawke said, staring down at the path ahead of her. “You know what I believe. I know you don’t agree with me, and that… You have your reasons. Even knowing all that, I wanted to have you around. But I should have thought about how conflicted you would feel about this. I don't regret my decisions but I didn't have to make you a part of it just because I wanted to see you."

“You wanted me around?” Fenris repeated.

“Yeah,” Hawke muttered, her head lowered. “It’s kind of silly, isn’t it?” She stole a glance at him through her bangs.

He looked perplexed, eyes widened slightly with the faintest red on the tips of his ears. “I’m...not sure I would say that. I simply did not expect that this would be your reasoning,” Fenris said.

“If it helps, I promise I won’t bring you on too many mage-related jobs anymore,” Hawke said. “And if I want to spend time with you, we could always go to the Hanged Man. Try out your luck in a game of Wicked Grace. Though, fair warning, Isabela cheats.”

“I...would like that, Hawke,” Fenris said. He did that half-smile he sometimes wore. The one that made Hawke’s knees weak. She wasn’t sure he was really aware just how much that look affected her. Fenris was probably oblivious to the fact that he was stunningly gorgeous.

They made plans to meet later that week. Hawke would tell Varric once they were back in Kirkwall, hardly able to contain her joy at the news. With the drama of the past two days behind them, Hawke was free to take up some simpler jobs and prepare herself for the night at the Hanged Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the difficulties of romancing Fenris while remaining pro-mage...


	10. Jobs to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a quick thank you to those of you who have left nice comments on this work! It really makes my day to know that people are enjoying it. Hard to believe I'm on chapter ten already!
> 
> Hope you guys like this one and have an awesome day besides!

“So Hawke looks down at the guy and says, ‘I think the Circle would know if you were possessed.’ But the crazy bastard just couldn’t see that he was insane. Honestly, we did the world a favor taking out that murderer,” Isabela said, discarding some of her hand and replacing it.

“The way he talked about the children he kidnapped was disturbing,” Aveline said. “And to think that he was the Magistrate’s own son. Truly monstrous.”

“I’m just glad we got there in time to help the girl,” Merrill said. She drew a card and frowned at it.

“Daisy, try not to react to the cards you’re getting,” Varric suggested. “It helps the rest of us win.”

Hawke was personally hating this game, which she was terrible at, but enjoying the company. Only Anders had been unable to make an appearance, which was likely a good thing considering he would have tried picking fights with Fenris all night. Instead, Fenris was sitting next to Hawke, looking almost pleased. It was definitely an improvement from a few days ago when he looked like he was so angry he might start spitting fire.

“By the way, Hawke, Martin wanted me to tell you he’s got some new stock in today. He’s even offering a discount, thanks to your generous help,” Isabela said with a wink.

“I’ll go see him tomorrow, then,” Hawke said. The man did know his way around poisons. He also sometimes got in daggers with high quality metals. If Hawke could just win a few rounds tonight, maybe she’d actually be able to afford new ones. Opal and Petunia (the names just stuck after she’d picked them) would be sorely missed, but with loads of darkspawn in her immediate future, she wanted reliable weapons.

“Okay, Varric, your turn,” Isabela said.

“I believe it’s Hawke’s turn, actually,” Varric said.

“Not the game. You promised to tell us what happened at The Bone Pit,” Isabela said.

“You’re absolutely right, Rivani,” Varric said. He cleared his throat in a moment of theatrics, then started the tale. In it, Hawke was taller, her brown hair longer and tied in a braid, and her face sported a dramatic streak of red warpaint. He liked to point out that it would bring out her golden eyes if she did that. One day Hawke would have to actually paint her face just to please Varric.

Hawke wasn’t the only one Varric enhanced. Fenris had more muscular arms, because it was more believable for him to swing around that giant sword with actual biceps. Anders was a lot more suave and just a touch more tortured. When Varric got to the encounter with the dragon at the other side of the tunnels, he also described it as being far more massive than it actually was.

“Hawke drove both daggers into the skull of the beast at once, releasing her ferocious battle cry. It was as if she was part dragon, the way she flew into the air with a roar. The beast lay vanquished, but her work was not yet done. She returned to the evil, moustache-twirling Orlesian mine owner and demanded he pay the workers fair wages. He agreed, paying his new partner her well-earned advance,” Varric said. “The end.”

“Well, that did sound exciting,” Isabela said. “But no romance?”

“Not in this story, I’m afraid,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Perhaps next time.” He glanced not so subtly over to Fenris.

“ _Varric,_ ” Hawke said. When she’d enlisted the help of those two, she thought they would actually be useful. Instead they spent most of their time teasing her about her crush. Together they were truly a menace.

“I agree with Isabela,” Fenris said.

Hawke sat a little straighter. “You do?”

“I did wonder if the plucky dwarf might find love,” Fenris said with a wicked smile.

“Alas, the plucky dwarf already found love with a beautiful lady named Bianca,” Varric countered.

“I’m not sure a love story involving your crossbow would woo many audiences,” Hawke said.

“They’re not ready for the work of an innovator. That’s alright. Not all artists see their work appreciated in their time,” Varric said.

The whole night was a welcome respite from the insanity of their normal lives. Hawke was glad to see that even Aveline was enjoying herself, even though she’d been reluctant to appear. Isabela kept an eye on Merrill, who had started out by saying that she’d never tried a drink before. Best of all, Fenris was cracking more jokes than usual. With how serious he was when they were out on a mission, Hawke hadn’t gotten much time to appreciate how funny he could be. 

Hawke was being monitored after the last couple of times she got way too drunk to function. Aveline was taking charge of that, since Isabela thought drunk Hawke was a riot. Isabela at least kept quiet about most of the embarrassing things Hawke had said about Fenris that one night. Not that she didn’t find other ways to tease Hawke.

When Aveline decided it was late enough for her to be getting back to the barracks, that was when the festivities slowly came to an end. Merrill stood up to leave soon after Aveline, with Isabela offering to walk her home. Varric wound up calling it a night as well, yawning loudly. With a wink to Hawke, she realized he was faking his sleepiness to get her alone with Fenris.

“Looks like the party’s over,” Hawke said. “You want some company getting back to Hightown?”

“That’s not necessary,” Fenris said.

“I didn’t ask if you needed me. I asked if you _wanted_ me,” Hawke said. This time, unlike many others, the suggestive phrasing was intentional. Being a little tipsy did help with some of those nerves.

Fenris’ eyebrows rose, then he smiled. “In that case, I would like that.”

They didn’t say much, but they didn’t need to. That night, Fenris and Hawke just enjoyed the walk together, taking a few moments to gaze at the stars overhead. Life was crazy, but this was good. This made sense.

✖✖✖✖✖

“You really want to help that guy? He’s an arse,” Isabela said.

“I’m not helping him, per se. I’m just making sure his wife wasn’t horribly murdered or something,” Hawke said. “Plus, we get to go to your favorite place!”

“The Rose isn’t my favorite place,” Isabela said. “Though I’ll admit, it is awfully fun.”

Bethany groaned. When she’d asked to come along with Hawke and her friends that morning, a trip to the Blooming Rose was hardly what she’d had in mind. She hid her face as they entered, hoping she didn’t see anything too unseemly. Bethany gasped.

“Uncle Gamlen?!” Bethany shouted, lowering her hands to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. She was not.

Hawke whipped her head around, staring at Bethany, then following her eyes to find Gamlen, sitting on a barstool looking very bewildered. That did answer her question about where her Uncle drank. Now Hawke was wishing she never had the answer. Varric was cackling beside her.

“What are you two doing here?” Gamlen questioned, fumbling for another drink out of his glass. If he was going to get through this encounter, he needed to be drunker. Much drunker.

“Important investigation business!” Hawke declared a little too loudly. She was flustered and didn’t really know what to do. She wanted to run, but her feet were bolted to the ground and her eyes could not unlock with Gamlen’s.

“What are you doing here?!” Hawke wished she hadn’t asked that. Why in Andraste’s name had she asked that?

“Sometimes,” Gamlen grunted, “a man gets lonely and wants a drink.” Even that was too much information. “Listen, if you don’t tell your mother you saw me here, I won’t tell her I saw you.”

“Oh trust me,” Hawke said, “I am never breathing a word of this. In fact, I’m going to erase it from my memory entirely. Thanks.”

Hawke grabbed Bethany’s hand and charged forward, asking someone quickly which room was Jethann’s. She thanked the person gruffly when they pointed up the stairs, then continued forward. Varric and Isabela were still snickering behind the sisters. Oh, how she wanted to make the two of them pay. Hawke would think of a way to do that later.

“Sorry darlings, today is my rest day,” Jethann said, turning slowly in his chair. He’d been preening in a mirror when they walked in, and was wearing nothing but a robe that left most of his thighs exposed. Now he stood, sashaying over to study Hawke. “Ooh, but for you, my dear, I suppose I could make an exception.”

Hawke turned red in an instant.

“Apologies for our friend here,” Isabela said, wrapping an arm around Hawke’s shoulders. “Unfortunately she’s spoken for.”

“Isabela!” Hawke shouted. Today was so not her day.

“Oh I’m just teasing, Hawke,” Isabela said with a wink. “But she does have her heart tragically set on someone else, I’m afraid.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Jethann said, licking his top lip. “In the meantime, what can I do for you lovely ladies?”

Varric coughed.

“And gentleman,” Jethann corrected.

“We hear you were...acquainted with Ninette. Her husband is looking for her, but it seems like she’s disappeared. He was worried she might have run off with you,” Hawke said.

“Uck, if Ninette actually left her husband, then good for her. Sadly, I’ve not seen her since her visit over a week ago. She was such a wonderful woman, so full of life, so inventive…”

“So you haven’t seen her?” Hawke asked.

“No. But you know, you’re not the first person to come asking around about Ninette. A templar by the name Emeric was here before. I’ve gotten templars calling for me, but all he wanted to do was talk,” Jethann said, sounding quite disappointed. “He said he was investigating a string of disappearances, and that Ninette might be the ‘latest victim.’”

“Do you know where he could have gone?” Hawke asked.

“Somewhere in the dregs of Darktown. Blech, disgusting place. I know some girls that used to work the Undercity,” Jethann said. His expression was enough to finish the story for him. “Anyway, let me know if you actually find anything. Ninette’s a lovely lady, I’d hate to think something bad happened to her.”

“She’s probably fine. Just ran away to Orlais and is drinking expensive wine while lounging by a fire,” Hawke said, trying to smile. She didn’t believe a word out of her filthy, lying mouth. “I will stop by if we learn anything, though.”

“Thank you. You can also stop by for more casual reasons, if you’re looking for someone to do,” Jethann said with a wink. He sauntered back to his chair, hips swaying as he walked.

“Oh, I do like him. Reminds me of someone,” Isabela said, eyes glued to the elven man’s ass.

“Come on, before Isabela wastes more of her coin on this place,” Varric said.

“It is never a waste of coin at the Rose. They really give you the most bang for your buck,” Isabela said.

“Eugh. Terrible,” Hawke said with a shudder.

✖✖✖✖✖

Emeric was apparently in great need of a rescue. Undercity thugs just never learned. Hawke and Isabela had great fun together. Their style of fighting was similar, though Isabela had more grace and was a bit better at avoiding attacks. Okay, a lot better, but Hawke insisted she made up for her lack of skill with a lot of heart. Still, it was fun to disappear together, watch the enemies get distracted trying to go after Varric and Bethany, and reappear just in time to stab the thugs in their backs.

These men gave the group no trouble. They were common thugs and nothing more. Hawke wondered for a moment if Bethany really needed to worry about big bad templars if one of them couldn’t even handle four weaklings like these. But usually, when templars came for mages, there were more of them all with lyrium in their systems. Not the same thing.

Emeric was investigating, unofficially. No one else seemed to think the disappearances to be much of a concern. He told Hawke he was off the case, regardless. Emeric could only risk his hide so much before he realized he was out of his league with this one.

“Do you have any more leads? I could follow whatever trail you were after, see if there’s anything worth checking out,” Hawke offered. “I’ve even a friend in the guard. If we find something, she could get the men there looking into it.”

“Goodness, did the Maker himself send you?” Emeric said, a nervous laugh dying in his throat. “Thank you for your offer. I doubt the guard will want to do much, but if you do find something then maybe… Go to the Foundry in Lowtown at night. I believe that’s where the women were taken.”

“Hawke,” Isabela said, quiet and solemn, “I don’t like this. Women go missing and they either turn up dead, or not at all.”

“Isabela, that’s awful,” Bethany breathed.

“It’s true,” Isabela said. “It’s not pretty, but it’s honest. And I’m not sure we should go digging around in something that could perhaps get us in trouble instead. I know you’re all about vigilante justice, but maybe just let this one go?”

“I can’t rest easy knowing that I could have done something about this. I’ll bring Aveline to check out the Foundry with me. She won’t let anything bad happen,” Hawke said.

“Bring Fenris, too,” Isabela suggested.

“What? Why?”

“Because. He’ll keep you safe, or at least be sure to rip the heart out of any guy that touches you,” Isabela said. “Not that you need protecting, but...you need protecting.”

“Alright, alright, I get it already,” Hawke said, turning back to the templar. “I’ll check out the Foundry for you. Be at the Gallows tomorrow morning, in the courtyard. If I find anything, I’ll show up to update you.”

Emeric nodded, and left ahead of them. Hawke sighed heavily. This was probably more trouble than it would turn out to be worth, but at least having Aveline show up meant she could involve the guard if there was really anything fishy. Which meant that it would be out of Hawke’s hands, and out of her hair.

✖✖✖✖✖

Fenris was frowning. To be fair, he usually was, but Isabela insisted he likely just had a “resting bitch face.” Hawke had no idea what that meant, but rolled with it. However, she’d spent enough time with Fenris now to tell the difference between a usual frown, and an actual look of genuine displeasure.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked.

“The Foundry has likely seen the deaths of many slaves. It is not a nice place, Hawke. I doubt we will like what we find inside,” Fenris said.

“We probably won’t,” Hawke agreed, “but that’s exactly why we need to look into it. If there’s any chance the women are alive in there…”

Fenris nodded. “Then let us hope the templar’s information was correct.”

“I’d rather he was wrong,” Aveline said, “and the women just ran away somewhere nice. From Isabela’s description of Ghyslain, I wouldn’t blame his wife for running.”

“I don’t think anyone would,” Varric agreed.

The inside of the Foundry was incredibly dark. Fenris started to glow, working like a human torch. Together, he and Hawke lead the way. Deeper inside, there were fires lit. Someone was here, or had been recently. Hawke heard footsteps.

“Up there!” Aveline shouted.

They saw the back of a man, running through a door. Hawke was about to chase him, when a large number of shades appeared, accompanied by a desire demon. Whoever that guy was, he’d used blood magic.

Fenris ran ahead, swinging his sword through two shades. Their forms wobbled, trying to maintain their shape on this plane. Aveline moved to join Fenris, taking on a shade all her own. She took them one enemy at a time, defeating each before moving onto the next. Fenris would pick two or three of them to focus on, his wide range of motion making up for the time it took to swing his blade.

Hawke was more manic, as everyone knew. She liked to jump around from demon to demon, cutting a little here and a little there. If she got over-excited, she’d try to take on the one that was clearly strongest all on her own. This time, that was the desire demon. Hawke was, thankfully, receiving backup from afar. Varric always made sure to give her extra aid if she was going for the big guys.

Desire demons had such an alien beauty to them. It was tempting, sure, but you could see the danger written all over their inhuman features. Hawke didn’t need to think twice about stabbing this one. It hadn’t even attempted to make a deal, not that Hawke would accept. These demons were all going straight for the kill, under the call of the blood mage that summoned them.

The fight was over, this time without major injury. Fenris had come to support Hawke at the last moment, but he’d not been entirely necessary. The group didn’t take a moment to catch their breaths, too concerned about letting the mage get away to pause. They followed the man’s trail through the Foundry, until Hawke found a small bag, dripping with blood. It didn’t bode well.

She pulled open the ties, and peered inside. Hawke gagged, dropping the bag on the ground. Fenris put a hand on her as she backed away from the thing. It took a moment for her to regain her composure and fight the urge to vomit.

“It’s...it’s a _hand_ ,” Hawke said.

Aveline picked up the bag, thankfully possessing a much tougher stomach for this sort of thing. She still made a face at the sight of it. Aveline noticed a small glimmer within, and had to remove the hand to see what was catching the light.

Hawke turned away when Aveline took it out, leaning her forehead against Fenris’ chest. It wasn't too comfortable with his armor still on, but it did help a little. Just because of who it was.

“A wedding ring,” Aveline announced. “Probably belonging to Ninette. We should bring that to Ghyslain. I’ll take the...hand, with me. As evidence. It’s not likely she’s alive any longer.”

“People can survive without hands,” Varric argued.

Aveline shook her head. Everyone knew it was improbable that any of the women were alive, with something like this left behind. Hawke tried to stand straight again, but she was shaking slightly.

“Are you going to be alright?” Fenris asked.

“Eventually, I’m sure,” Hawke said, forcing a smile. “We should go. I really don’t want to hang around here.”

“Our suspect has gotten away for now, anyway,” Aveline agreed. “You should go home. We can talk to Ser Emeric in the morning, as promised. Then we’ll go to Ghyslain.”

Hawke nodded. “Oh, and I should tell Jethann,” she said, remembering. Fenris gave her a questioning look. “I didn’t mention...he was Ninette’s, um, lover. He’d want to know.” Fenris said nothing, but appeared to understand.

They left the Foundry together. Hawke was both incredibly happy that her home was so close and disturbed. Sure, it wouldn’t be long before she could tuck into bed and try to forget what she’d just seen. But being that close to the scene of an awful crime did not sit well with her. She would sleep with Hermes tonight. If anyone tried to disturb her, he’d wake up first and bite the shit out of the potential attacker.

Varric split off as they passed the Hanged Man and Aveline was quick to jump ahead of them towards Hightown, but Fenris stayed with Hawke to see her home. She felt safer for the company and comforted by who the company was. He asked her one last time if she was alright before leaving, just to be certain.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine once I get some sleep,” Hawke said. “Seeing that just made me sick, that’s all.”

“If you’re sure,” Fenris said. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Fenris.”

✖✖✖✖✖

The Maker only knew how glad Hawke was when, after the discussion with Emeric, they heard some young templar recruits chattering about something suspicious. Hawke wanted in. She didn’t care what was going on, she wanted to know what it was. Anything was better than thinking about gruesome murders anymore. Hawke sent Aveline ahead to Ghyslain with the ring.

“And what should I tell him? That we found his wife’s severed hand and the suspect got away?” Aveline said, brow furrowed.

“Absolutely not. Tell him we found the ring, his wife isn’t coming back, and we’re terribly sorry for his loss. That is all he needs to know,” Hawke said.

Aveline was still unhappy about having to go alone, but let Hawke go and do her thing. Her thing being, apparently, nosing into other people’s business in hopes of finding a job to do.

The templar recruits, Hugh, Ruvena, and Paxley, were very skittish when Hawke approached. They’d apparently been instructed not to speak to anyone about some missing templars. Of course, they fucked up when they actually mentioned that there were missing templars.

“Shush, you two!” Ruvena said. “They’re not even missing. Or well, one of them came back.”

“I’d like to help find them, if I can. It’s sort of this thing I do,” Hawke said.

“No,” Ruvena insisted. “This is templar business. Stay out of it, civilian.”

“If it’s templar business, shouldn’t the templars actually be doing something about it? Keran has been missing for days now, and still we’ve heard nothing,” Hugh said.

“But Wilmod came back,” Ruvena said.

“Then why haven’t I seen him?” Hugh asked.

“He left the city to clear his head, that’s all,” Ruvena said.

“Where did he go, exactly? Maybe I could ask him about the others?” Hawke said.

“No way am I telling you,” Ruvena insisted. “Knight Captain Cullen will have my hide.”

“Is that where he was going? To follow Wilmod?” Paxley said.

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Ruvena said, then sighed deeply. “Alright, fine, fine. Knight Captain Cullen was going after Wilmod to make sure he was alright. I think they were headed towards the Coast. If you’re quick enough, you should find them on the road heading there. But you didn’t hear a word of this from me, got it?” She shoved a finger towards Hawke’s face.

“Of course. Never even met you. Gotta go,” Hawke said.

“Ask Cullen about Keran!” Hugh called as she left.

For now, it was time to gather a team. No way was Hawke leaving the city on her own. From the Docks, she first headed towards Lowtown. Bethany might not like templars much, but Hawke liked having her sister around when she could. Leandra had calmed down somewhat lately. Bethany was taking full advantage of that fact, leaving the house whenever possible.

Hawke would also stop at the Hanged Man to find Varric, because she absolutely played favorites. Plus he always seemed to get a little down in the dumps when he missed some exciting adventure Hawke went on. It was only fair that she give him more story fodder.

Hawke also considered having Isabela along, but the pirate was nowhere to be found for the moment. Hawke could have gone to find Aveline, but it was likely she would still be upset about Hawke leaving her. She decided to stick to her trusty pals in Lowtown and went to see Merrill. It wasn’t often that she had the Dalish girl around for things, so it was nice to see how she perked up with excitement at the news that she was needed.

“I feel like there’s a joke somewhere in here,” Varric said. “Two apostates going to rescue missing templars. I’ll think of it eventually.”

They hurried towards the coast, and sure enough, a man with curly blonde locks and shiny templar armor stood in plain sight. His sword was drawn, pointed at another templar. The blonde was shouting something about corruption and possession, which didn’t really make sense to Hawke. The only ones at risk for being possessed were mages, and there was no such thing as a templar mage. (A Tempmage? A Mageplar?) He was quite serious however, threatening to kill the recruit, who Hawke guessed must have been Wilmod, if he couldn’t prove he wasn’t under a blood mage’s thrall.

“Hey, buddy! Take it easy,” Hawke shouted, running into the fray. “Listen, if this is some sort of weird templar hazing ritual, that’s wonderful, but the guy looks like he’s about to piss himself, so—”

A strange distorted laughter started. It sounded like it was coming from Wilmod, but Hawke didn’t think that could be right. She looked over, and indeed, it was Wilmod who was laughing, though his voice sounded like three people trying to speak from one body. A yellowish light crackled over him, like a thin translucent layer of glowing skin. It looked like his bones were breaking, his form twisting. Wilmod was an abomination.

Hawke screamed. Last night had been enough of this nonsense! She masked her terror by running at the thing, still screaming, and driving her daggers into it at full force. It laughed again. Wilmod had summoned up more demons and abominations around them. He grabbed Hawke between two large palms, lifting her. She managed to remove her weapons from his thick skin before he tossed her backwards.

“Hawke!” Merrill yelled. The cliff was right behind her.

Hawke felt herself hit something hard and metal with an _oof._ She inhaled and looked up, only to see Cullen, one arm still around her. He released her, making sure Hawke could still stand on her own.

“Maker preserve us,” Cullen whispered, staring at the circling creatures.

Cullen moved forward, releasing a charge of energy. If Hawke didn’t know any better, she’d think it was magic. Whatever it was, it wounded the demons and abominations, who screamed in agony. _Good,_ Hawke thought.

Bethany and Merrill usually tried to stay a little ways away from the battle, but now they were staying as far as possible. Cullen was using templar abilities, that weakened magic and were meant to harm mages. Hawke didn’t blame them for being cautious. She was just glad they were still helping. Not that they would have abandoned her, but Hawke could hardly blame them if they had.

Varric was raining bolts down on these monsters like nobody’s business, using some of his explosive bolts when he got the chance. Hawke didn’t want to really get close again, but could hardly leave Cullen in the fray by himself.

Hawke detonated a smoke bomb, no shadows available to clearly slink into in the daylight, and faded into the smog. She found the first abomination, Wilmod, in the center of his little group of monsters. She was determined to finish the job. Hawke kicked hard, causing the abomination to stumble forward, then sliced into him fast and with unmatched fury. Wilmod was unable to even try getting back up before he collapsed.

Hawke flipped backwards, finding another target. Within a couple of minutes, the monsters were dead, and Hawke and her friends could relax. Cullen sheathed his sword, standing somberly over the body of an abomination.

“How was that even possible?” Bethany asked, coming up beside Hawke. “He wasn’t a mage. He shouldn’t have been able to…”

“We aren’t sure, but he’s not the first,” Cullen said. “The reason I had him out here was to keep others out of danger. I had to be sure he wasn’t like the others.”

“And you were going to face him, plus a horde of abominations, all on your own?” Hawke said. She knew for a fact that was not something she would ever even consider doing.

“...I suppose I should thank you, serah. I’m lucky you appeared when you did,” Cullen said. He looked a little embarrassed.

“You’re welcome, but just don’t take risks like this too often, alright?” Hawke said, brushing a bit of hair out of her face. “So… What can you tell us about this?”

✖✖✖✖✖

They were back at the Blooming Rose. If they kept this up, the owners would start to think they were regulars. Before going to investigate, Hawke decided to check and see if Jethann wasn’t busy. She doubted Aveline had stopped by to let him know what they found, even if she had remembered that they’d promised to. Something about the captain of the guard and a whorehouse just didn’t seem to mix for Aveline. Hawke smirked, thinking Jevan probably hadn’t had that problem.

“Jethann? Yeah, he should be just finishing up,” one of the ladies of the Rose said with a grin. “Are you his next appointment? He won’t be at his best without a chance to...refresh himself.”

“I...no. No I’m...no,” Hawke said. “I just needed to talk to him about something.”

A man left Jethann’s room just then, hair tousled and face flushed. He looked quite pleased with himself as he near-floated down the stairs, a skip in his step. Jethann appeared at the doorway to blow the man a kiss, then disappeared behind it again.

The woman Hawke had been speaking to giggled. “I think you can head upstairs now,” she said.

Hawke lead the way upstairs, with both Bethany and Merrill keeping their eyes downcast the entire time. Varric was gently encouraging them that they wouldn’t see anything they didn’t pay for. After all, that was policy at the Rose.

“Serah Hawke!” Jethann cheered when they walked inside. Thankfully, all his “bits” were covered by his favorite robe, though he was still towelling off the sweat and the room had the fresh smell of sex. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. Here for business, or pleasure?”

“Jethann, I think you might want to sit down. I’ve some bad news,” Hawke said. She felt terribly doing this when he appeared to be in such a good place, but he deserved to know.

“Oh, dear,” Jethann said. “You didn’t find Ninette?”

“No, we didn’t,” Hawke said. “I’m afraid your friend is...dead.”

He gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. Jethann rubbed his eyes before tears could even start to appear, because he knew they were on their way. Hawke had expected some upset, but not this much. He’d cared for Ninette far more than she realized, regardless of the nature of their relationship.

“That’s just awful,” Jethann said, trying to keep composed. “Thank you for coming to tell me. I’m afraid I’ll have to go cancel all my appointments for today. Please, excuse me.” He moved past them, going to aside one of the girls by the bar. They ducked into the back rooms and out of sight.

“Now I’m not sure I should have told him,” Hawke said. Her heart sank.

“You did the right thing, Hawke, trust me,” Varric said, patting her on the back. “The worst thing is not knowing. This way, he can grieve. People like Jethann bounce back quick, too. Trust me.”

“Thanks, Varric,” she said. “What would I do without you?”

“I ask myself the same question every day,” Varric said with his signature smug grin.

Now, it was onto the next investigation. Apparently, the templars were seeing “Idunna, the Exotic Wonder from the East.” Better than “The Tramp from Darktown,” but no less ridiculous. Keran had been by not too long ago. Which meant it was time to have a chat with Idunna.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke couldn’t stop rubbing her throat after that encounter. She was shaking, too. It had been like snakes had crawled into her body and pulled and squeezed to get Hawke to do what they wanted. Idunna had been a blood mage, and now she was dead. No one argued that it was the wrong call, but Merrill hadn’t liked watching Hawke kill her. Hawke took no pleasure in the deed, but it needed doing. She was just glad Bethany had been there to break Idunna’s compulsion. Hawke decided she’d had enough of blood mages for a lifetime.

When they found Keran, naked and trapped in a magical vortex, Hawke showed no mercy to the blood mages there. Their leader was clearly insane, anyway, and wouldn’t listen to reason as they pleaded with her to let the man go. Merrill was sniffling once they were dead.

“These mages were just driven to desperation. They had no idea what they were dealing with,” Merrill said, voice near a whimper.

“And you do?” Bethany argued. “My sister nearly died at the hands of a blood mage today.”

“I know! I don’t defend that, no one should ever control people,” Merrill started, “but…”

“Merrill,” Hawke said, trying to remain patient, “that’s what a lot of blood mages do. They use their magic to compel others and summon demons to fulfill selfish goals.”

“But they were scared,” Merrill countered, clutching her staff.

“Let’s not argue right now, please,” Hawke said. Keran still needed freeing, and she wasn’t sure she had the composure to talk with Merrill right now. Hawke wondered if it was even possible to guide Merrill away from dark magic, or if the goal was in vain. Bethany caught her sister’s eye, and they realized they were thinking the same thing.

Keran was freed, but terrified. He asked about his sister, what happened, and then just wanted to go. But Hawke was hesitant.

“Merrill, can you see if he’s possessed?” Hawke asked. Merrill nodded silently while Keran squeaked nervously.

“B-but I’m not a mage!” he argued.

“He’s clear, no demons there,” Merrill said, then shuffled back behind the others.

“They found a way to put demons into templars. You weren’t the first, I’m afraid. Go home. You’ve seen enough for today,” Hawke said. So had she, frankly. She wanted to sleep for a hundred years and never deal with a maleficar again. Mostly the second thing.

✖✖✖✖✖

Morning came and Hawke was bringing Merrill and Aveline to the Gallows. Keran’s sister had dropped by unannounced at an hour when Hawke would usually still be in bed, crying and begging for their help. Apparently, Cullen wasn’t convinced that Keran was clean, and wouldn’t believe him without proof. Aveline was along because, well, Aveline was tough and a figure of authority in her own right. If the Knight Captain wouldn’t listen to Hawke or her apostate friend who was there to confirm, he might listen to Guard Captain Aveline. Though Aveline was still insistent that the title wasn’t hers yet, officially.

“But it will be,” Hawke said, “and that’s what matters.”

“I hope you’re right, for Keran’s sake,” Aveline said.

Knight Captain Cullen really, really did not look like he liked Merrill’s assessment of Keran. She was starting to babble, as was characteristic of her, trying to explain how she could tell that there was or wasn’t a demon in the templar’s body, when Aveline stepped forward. Hawke and Merrill breathed a sigh of relief in perfect unison. Hawke looked at the Dalish girl, who was shaking slightly, and put a protective arm around her. No one would hurt Merrill as long as Hawke was around to say anything about it.

“Knight Captain, if Hawke has put her trust in someone, then so have I,” Aveline said.

“Then what is your recommendation, as Captain of the Guard?” Cullen asked. Hawke, on any other occasion, would have been tempted to laugh. It was all so stuffy and official. She wondered how they weren’t the ones with spirits in them, and Anders, who was so full of life, _did_ have one.

“Reinstate Keran. Put him on watch for a year, if you must, but if you see no signs of compulsion or possession, then it is his right to be fully appointed as a templar, with the proper training,” Aveline said.

Cullen nodded. “Then I shall see it done. I hope, for all our sakes, that your trust is not misplaced,” he said.

“It rarely is,” Aveline said. Hawke was internally pumping her fists in the air at how badass her friend could be. It was a very kind way of telling the Knight Captain to shove it. Hawke knew Aveline well enough to translate.

Keran and his sister stayed behind for just a moment to thank them for their intervention. He still seemed wary of mages, but Hawke wouldn’t let that slide.

“Just remember that not all mages do such things,” she said. “Most of them are just people’s family, like your sister is to you. Just, you know, with magic.”

“I’ll try to remember that, serah Hawke,” Keran said. It wasn’t much, but it was something to know she’d tried. Maybe it would start debates with the other recruits. Maybe they wouldn’t be so heavily indoctrinated, in the end, that they would question their order. Maybe it was too much to hope for, but Hawke wanted to anyway.

Aveline had duties for the rest of the day, and left Merrill and Hawke once they hit Hightown. That was when both of their stomachs started to growl. Merrill looked sheepish, but Hawke just laughed. It was early yet, and they’d rushed out to the Gallows before they got even a bite to eat.

“Come on, Merrill,” Hawke said, linking arms with her. “I know a great place and I just got paid. Breakfast is on me.”


	11. Strange Magic

Merrill could not stop talking about the honeyed toast all morning. Hawke decided to try and help Merrill get to know her way around town more after they ate breakfast together, teaching her landmarks and whatnot, but Merrill was still talking about food. Hawke giggled, though had to wonder how well she even ate most days. Varric looked after her, he had assured Hawke of that much, but Merrill could be so forgetful.

“...then you reach the Alienage. Ta-da!” Hawke said, walking up to the Vhenadahl. Merrill clapped, looking enthusiastic, but still lost.

“Thank you, Hawke. I think that helped a bit,” Merrill said. “It was at least nice walking around and hearing you talk. You sure do know a lot about Kirkwall. For living here only a year, I mean. Maybe by the time I’ve lived here for a year I’ll be giving tours to people! Think of that. I’ll be sure to tell people where the best honeyed toast is. Oh and their tea was amazing, too!”

“If you like tea, maybe I should bring you some of the stuff Anders makes. He claims it’s just ordinary tea, but it tastes like there’s magic stirred into it,” Hawke said with a dreamy sigh.

“I’ve never known magic to have a taste before,” Merrill said, but noticed Hawke’s funny look. “Oh! You weren’t being literal, I’m sorry. I would love to taste this magic tea that Anders has. Except, I don’t think he likes me much.”

“He just doesn’t know you like I do, trust me,” Hawke insisted.

They entered Merrill’s house together, enjoying themselves too much to part ways just yet. Hawke kept finding herself smiling just because Merrill was. She was too darn cute, and her happiness was infectious.

“You two are very close, you know,” Merrill said. “I wish I had someone like you have Anders. Or Varric. Or your sister.”

“You have me,” Hawke said, “and Varric and Isabela. And my sister likes you, too. You’re not alone here.”

“I suppose,” Merrill said, visibly shrinking. “After so long with the clan, everything feels so different. They weren’t just my friends, but they were my family, too. I need to adjust better.”

“And give yourself more credit,” Hawke said. “It’s not been that long. You’ll learn.”

Merrill remained unconvinced. She kept squirming in her seat, like there was no way to sit just right. If Hawke could say the right thing, it might put her at ease. All that was on her mind, however, were recent events. Things that involved abominations and blood mages showing exactly why people worried about Merrill. Hawke had befriended the girl in hopes of being a guide, perhaps this was the right time to start.

“I’ve been thinking about what’s happened the past few days,” Hawke said. “We’ve run into a lot more blood mages recently.”

Merrill’s face immediately fell into a frown. She’d heard this lecture countless times and was pretty sure she knew where Hawke was headed. The Keeper had worried enough for a hundred Hawkes. Not that Hawke knew that.

“You look worried,” Merrill said.

“I am,” Hawke admitted. “Merrill, for the first time the other day I saw what it looks like when a mage turns into an abomination with my own eyes. And then I saw another person, this time not even a mage, transformed into this monstrous thing because of blood magic. Every time I worried first about my sister, and then about you.”

“Well, your sister has made her position on blood magic quite clear. I don’t believe she’d ever try to do it,” Merrill said.

“No, you’re right. But you have,” Hawke said. “You’ve communicated with demons, made deals with them even.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, isn’t it? They’re dangerous. You’ve seen what they can do if you let them take control. If they have too much power, they could destroy you utterly!”

“I know what I’m doing, Hawke. I don’t need this kind of lecture,” Merrill said.

“What exactly are you doing, though? I’ve seen blood mages wanting to escape or rebel, but you don’t really seem to have a cause,” Hawke said.

“Just because I haven’t told you about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!” Merrill shouted, standing up. “And if you’re going to be like this, I’d rather you just leave.”

Hawke was still. She had brought Merrill to the verge of tears, by the look in the elven girl’s eyes. That was not the intention, but it had escalated so quickly Hawke felt like she’d completely lost track of what she’d meant to do. Hawke stood, gathering herself and starting towards the door.

“I’m sorry, Merrill. I didn’t mean…” she said, then sighed. “I just don’t want to see you become one of those things.”

“I won’t,” Merrill said, indignant. “Can’t you trust me Hawke?”

“I do, but—”

“Then there shouldn’t be a ‘but!’” Merrill said.

Hawke nodded, apologized again quietly, and left the Alienage, defeated. For all her good intentions, where was that getting her? She needed her mind off of this. She needed her sister, really.

Bethany was the most stable mage that Hawke knew, which was shaking her worldview to realize this. Bethany and Malcolm Hawke had once been all that Sarah knew of mages. They were her standard. Both of them had such amazing self-control, as well as power. Hawke wondered about the need to lock mages up when they seemed to be so completely in command of their abilities.

Now, despite the fact that she wanted to deny it, she was understanding the reasons. Between the dangers of abominations and the things that mages did when they held power over others, it could seem like a huge risk when you didn’t know that mages like Bethany existed. Hawke hated that it made sense, but she could acknowledge the reason behind the fear.

Not that she would mention these thoughts to her sister. They sat together and talked of lighter things. Leandra had been starting to socialize with some of the Hightown noble families who remembered the Amells with some fondness. With nobles came gossip, and lots of it. The Hawke sisters giggled over the more ridiculous rumors together.

“She genuinely thought she was going to _die_. Finally, her husband quieted the whole room and told her that she was thinking of deathroot, and an elfroot salad is actually very good for your health. But by then she’d cried off half of her expensive Orlesian makeup and ran to the powder room to reapply it. Took thirty minutes before dinner could resume,” Bethany said.

“They don’t even look similar!” Hawke said.

“Hey, layabouts,” Gamlen said, entering the house looking quite cranky. “Letter just came for you. Delivery man said it was urgent and requires your immediate attention. I told him you probably weren’t even here, given your habit of running around.” He tossed the letter at Hawke, half crumpled already.

“So I’m a layabout that runs around a lot? Those things seem to contradict one another,” Hawke said.

Gamlen huffed. “Whatever, I’m just saying, it’s not my job to take your messages for you.”

Hawke stood and bowed dramatically. “Oh, thank you, dearest uncle Gamlen. I don’t know how we would ever survive without you so graciously assisting with letter delivery!” she said, standing up straight only to throw her hand dramatically against her forehead, leaning backwards slightly like she could faint from shock. Bethany snickered, and Gamlen grunted.

“Fine, next time I won’t even bring you the letter, see how you like it,” Gamlen said.

“Oh, don’t tease him too much, sister,” Bethany said, pulling her sister back down to sit. “I have no love for the man, but he’s extra ornery since mother’s been going out and having supper with nobility.”

“It’s his fault he lost the titles and the house in the first place,” Hawke said, opening the letter.

“I know that but, he’s still some of the only family we’ve got,” Bethany said.

“So, he’s an arse, but he’s _our_ arse?” Hawke said.

“I wouldn’t put it that way but…”

The letter was folded unevenly, the message a near illegible scrawl clearly written in haste. The contents had Hawke leaping out of her chair, however. There was work yet to be done, it seemed.

“Bethany, grab your staff. We’ve got to go,” Hawke said. Bethany didn’t even ask questions. She simply ran to grab her staff and a small bag to sling across her body with emergency potions. Always a good idea when you were out for a job. The girls left the house in a hurry, going to find Varric and anyone else that was ready to help out.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Serah Hawke, I’m so glad you came. I hoped you’d get the message in time, but I wasn’t sure,” Thrask said. “I wasn’t sure who else to trust. You have proven to be quite a friend to mages, but not many others in Kirkwall take that stance. You must have heard by now how the Circle in Starkhaven burned down?”

“No, this is the first I’m hearing about it,” Hawke said, her eyes going wide.

“The Circle burned?” Anders gasped in horror. “How could that have happened?”

“A pissed off mage and a rogue fireball?” Varric suggested.

“No, they have measures against that sort of thing. Otherwise, don’t you think Circles would be burning everyday? Any mage could just try to set the place aflame,” Anders said. “This had to be a larger plan.”

“It doesn’t matter how it was done now,” Thrask said. “The mages that were evacuated were going to be brought here, to Kirkwall’s Circle. But something went wrong while they were being escorted and they’ve escaped. I managed to trace them to this cave and…”

“And now you want us to kill them?” Anders said, enraged.

“No! Andraste, no. I don’t want to see any more harm done, here. If the other templars found them, I’m sure they’d consider them apostates and try to kill them all. But Hawke, you helped Feynriel get to the Dalish. You understand the plight of mages,” Thrask said. “Please, convince them to come peacefully. It is...the best I can offer.”

“Hawke, please tell me we aren’t just going to hand them back to the templars?” Anders pleaded.

“We’re going to try and do what’s best for them,” Hawke said. “And, Ser Thrask, I believe this was meant for you.”

Hawke pulled out the note she’d left at the bottom of her pack, from the templar’s daughter. He gaped at the sight of it, brought to tears. Ser Thrask knew it meant she had not survived her escape, to be seeing the letter again.

“So you know,” Thrask said, bowing his head.

“Yes. We’ll keep it a secret, I swear. We’re...we’re very sorry for your loss,” Hawke said.

Thrask nodded in thanks, and stepped aside. He couldn’t speak again, for fear he’d lose what composure he had left and begin to weep. Hawke and the others walked into the cave, leaving the templar alone to grieve while he guarded the entrance. With luck, no more mages would have to die that day, or be returned to a life in a prison.

✖✖✖✖✖

“I am still in awe of the lies Varric can tell with a straight face,” Anders said with a laugh.

“What, you don’t think the Knight Commander would entrust me with something so important?” Hawke said, jabbing him in the ribs playfully. After the mission, the two of them had gone back to the clinic together to talk and decompress. With all the undead and more blood magic, both of them needed it.

“Sure, because you and her are such good pals,” Anders said. “It’s a wonder you find time for the apostates.”

“Well, don’t tell Bethany this, but you’re my favorite illegal mage,” Hawke said.

“I’m honored,” Anders said, putting a hand on his chest as if he were deeply touched.

“Ugh,” Hawke groaned, falling back on the cot. “Thanks for this, Anders, really. I’ve just seen too many blood mages lately. And it isn’t just Kirkwall mages, so it can’t be this place that’s spreading it or something. Those people were from Starkhaven. I don’t understand why they can’t just say ‘no.’ A demon tries to tempt you? Just tell them you prefer not being possessed!” She raised her head and looked at him briefly to say, “No offense.”

“None taken. I’m a special case,” Anders said, though he couldn’t mask the slight weakening in his voice. “It gets easier to excuse yourself from doing bad things when you’re under duress. All the mages we’ve seen, they were just desperate to escape the templars.”

“I guess that’s why they call it the Circle,” Hawke said. “They watch mages for signs of corruption, but then because the mages want to escape so bad they become corrupt, which then justifies the need to watch them. It just goes around and around and never really ends.”

“Exactly. How can we fault mages who react out of fear? It’s all they’ve been taught since they were taken from their families,” Anders said.

“Do you remember your family much?” Hawke asked, sitting up again.

“Yes, actually,” Anders said. “I wasn’t taken until I was twelve.”

“Funny, I kind of got the impression you were there when you were really young,” Hawke said. “I mean not _funny_. Maker, that sounded insensitive, didn’t it?”

“You’re fine, Hawke. I know what you meant,” Anders said.

“So, what happened?”

“With what?”

“When you were taken?” Hawke said. There was a long pause, and she reconsidered. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“If it were anyone but you, I would mind,” Anders said, staring at the ceiling. “But I think I can tell you.”

Hawke sat forward, giving him her full attention. Anders would have a hard time suppressing Justice while he told his story. It had been one of the reasons that Justice had chosen to merge with Anders and help his cause. Besides that, he was telling Hawke, and continuing to get dangerously close to her. He should be warning her, telling her to stay away from him. This could only complicate matters.

“Your own father?” Hawke gasped.

“Not everyone gets a father like yours. At the time, I blamed myself so much for the fire, I wasn’t even mad at him for calling the templars. I didn’t speak for the longest time after that,” Anders said. “I didn’t tell anyone my name, so they just called me ‘the Ander.’ It just stuck after that, I suppose.”

“You’re telling me Anders isn’t even your real name?” Hawke said.

“It is now,” Anders said. “It’s all anyone calls me. Except Varric, but he only really calls you and Aveline by name.”

“True. It drives her crazy, too. She complained to me just the other day about it,” Hawke said.

Anders laughed. “That would bother her,” he said.

Hawke picked up the cup of tea she’d forgotten about. She sipped it and frowned. It had gone cold already.

“I don’t suppose you could heat this up with magic, could you?” Hawke said.

Anders sighed, and reached out a hand. “Give it here,” he said. Taking the cup, he gently held it over his open palm. A small fire circled around, barely skirting the edges of the teacup. He kept it like that for about a minute, then handed it back to Hawke. “Careful,” Anders warned.

The cup itself was still warm to the touch, though cool enough to hold. Hawke took a drink, and exhaled slowly in her satisfaction. Was there anything magic couldn’t do or tea couldn’t make better? Then, Hawke had another idea.

“Do you think I could take some of those tea leaves with me?” Hawke asked.

“What for?” Anders said.

“For drinking, silly,” Hawke said, smiling.

“Cheeky,” Anders said, shaking his head. “I don’t see why not. If you plan on making it yourself, though, I’ll have to give away my secret ingredient.”

“What’s that?”

Anders grinned, big and wide. “A teaspoon of honey.”

✖✖✖✖✖

This was the third time Hawke tried knocking, and still no response. Merrill could have been out, but she didn’t spy the telltale sign of string on the ground. If she had, Hawke would have followed it around until she ran into Merrill. Instead, she was standing woefully at the door to Merrill’s house, holding a small bag of tea leaves and a bottle of honey. Hawke hoped that she wasn’t simply being avoided.

“Merrill? Are you home?” she called.

Finally, the door swung wide open, with a frazzled looking Merrill standing on the other side. She smoothed her hair down and cleared her throat, before saying, “Hawke? Was I supposed to be expecting you?”

“No, I’m doing the thing where I drop by uninvited again. I just remembered that we’d talked the other day about Anders’ magic tea, and I brought some by,” Hawke said. “I also meant to apologize, for the fight we had. I upset you and wasn’t being a very good friend. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Merrill said, her face very cutely sporting a bit of pink. “Thank you, Hawke. I honestly hadn’t expected...I mean… _Ahem._ Please, come in.”

Hawke followed Merrill inside, offering to set up the tea for the both of them. Merrill happily accepted, helping only to light the fire. She never actually bothered buying flint, since she could just point and set something aflame. Being a mage definitely had its perks. Hawke got the cleanest cups she could find, still wiping them a bit with a bit of cloth before spooning in the leaves and pouring the water. As instructed by the tea master, Anders, Hawke added just one teaspoon of honey to each cup.

“Here you go,” Hawke said, handing the tea over to Merrill. “Let me know what you think.”

“Ma serannas,” Merrill said cheerfully, about to take a sip. She stopped when she noticed Hawke’s confused expression. “Oh, that means ‘thank you.’”

“How would I say ‘you’re welcome?’” Hawke asked.

“ _Ma're vhalla_ ,” Merrill said.

“I am not even going to try to say that,” Hawke decided. “I just know I will mess up the pronunciation horribly, and I’ll never be able to show my face to you ever again.”

Merrill giggled. “It’s alright, Hawke,” she said. “I promise I wouldn’t make fun of you if you tried.” Then she drank the tea, and perked right up. “I think you were right when you said his tea tastes like magic!”

“Magic and honey, apparently,” Hawke said. “I told him that it’s cheating to add honey, because honey already tastes amazing, but he just wouldn’t hear it.”

“I don’t think it’s cheating, exactly. A lot of people like honey in their tea. It’s just enhancing the flavor,” Merrill said. “Still, it’s wonderful.”

“I’ll let Anders know he has another fan,” Hawke said. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, really. I mean, I nearly forgot to eat yesterday, but then I remembered later. Oh, and I did get to sleep kind of late, but I was just reading this really good book and lost track of the time. Sometimes I just get so focused on something I can’t think of anything else,” Merrill said.

Hawke tried not to react too visibly to this. Merrill was just being honest, but it made Hawke worry. Sometimes she wondered if Merrill would still be alive if not for Varric and Hawke looking out for her. The last thing she wanted was to walk through the door one day and find an emaciated Merrill lying on the floor. Hawke shook her head like she was flinging the thought out of her skull.

Seeing this, Merrill asked, “Oh, is that fly back? Pesky little thing.”

“No fly, just, um, got a crick in my neck,” Hawke said. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something. About the Fade.” By the look on Merrill’s face, Hawke could practically see the question mark forming overhead.

“The Fade?” Merrill repeated.

“Yeah,” Hawke said. “Well, more specifically, I wanted to ask about spirits. I know Anders has Justice and Bethany says she’s met one or two in her dreams, but I was wondering if maybe the Dalish had more insight.”

“Not really, no,” Merrill said. “Even most mages rarely meet spirits that aren’t called demons. I always got the feeling they don’t particularly like people. The ones I’ve talked to, they always felt like they understood us better than the ones who avoid humans. Maybe that’s just because they’re more willing to reach out to us.”

“So, regular spirits don’t really help people?” Hawke asked.

“Not usually, no,” Merrill said. “Maybe they’re actually just terribly shy.”

“From what I’ve seen of Justice, I’m not sure ‘shy’ is a word I would use for him,” Hawke said. “Though, should I even be calling him, ‘him?’ It’s not like spirits have a gender.”

“You know, I never thought to ask a spirit what they preferred to be called,” Merrill said. “Maybe I should ask, next time.”

They talked until there was no more tea, keeping the subject light at all times. The last thing either of them wanted was to have the topic shift to something unpleasant again. Neither of them wanted to get into another fight, especially not when they were enjoying their time together so much. Even when Hawke finally decided to head back home, the two of them agreed that they should “do it again, sometime.”

A night with Merrill was certainly much tamer than a night at the Hanged Man with Isabela and Varric. Hawke would likely die if she actually went out with those two every night. Still, when everyone could come around, things could get crazy in the best of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For “you’re welcome,” I used a fan translator since I don’t believe the phrase is ever actually used in canon. Feel free to correct me if there’s a better translation.
> 
> Also didn't have time to edit this as closely as I've done for the other chapters so hopefully there's no huge mistakes.


	12. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again unable to edit this chapter as thoroughly! Real life has been a bit distracting in a number of ways, including the time I try to spend with my girlfriend and just thoughts of my girlfriend in general. ...okay that's not entirely related but I wanted to mention them because I love them? So there.
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy the chapter hopefully I will be less of a goof next week!

Anders and Fenris had been—very deliberately—placed at opposite ends of the table. It kept them from bickering, which prevented the rest of the group from having to deal with the two of them bickering. Hawke was especially grateful, since things were going well with both of them for now. In fact, she had managed not to piss anyone off since she made up with Merrill. Hawke had earned herself a pint or two at the Hanged Man.

Even Bethany was invited along. There were some of Hawke’s new friends that Bethany hadn’t gotten to know too well yet, and she decided she wanted to remedy that. Within minutes, she and Isabela were tag teaming on who would tease Hawke next. Isabela was currently in charge of that.

“So, Fenris, up for another round of ‘What Color are Your Undergarments?’” Isabela said with a wry smile. Hawke was already turning bright red. Bethany tried not to cackle at their success.

Fenris, on the other hand, groaned. “If you must,” he said.

“That’s a good sport. For those who don’t know the rules, each wrong guess means you take a shot. If you guess correctly, you take a shot. The aim is to get very drunk while picturing Fenris in nothing but his smallclothes, or if you prefer, nothing at all,” Isabela said, not so subtly winking at Hawke, who was very much wishing she could hide right now.

“And who, exactly, is paying for these shots?” Varric asked.

“That is a very good question, Varric,” Isabela said, nodding. “Hawke, would you be my kindly benefactor for the evening?” She fluttered her eyelashes so innocently, it was pure evil.

“Why me?” Hawke said.

“Because, you owe me. That nasty bandit would have cut you in half if I hadn’t been there for you,” Isabela said. “Plus, I know you want to play along. I’m not going to be the only one making guesses.”

“Fine,” Hawke said. “Because I owe you.” She most certainly was not going to be participating in Isabela’s game. Though, Hawke’s mind was a few steps ahead of her, creating some lovely visuals of a half-naked Fenris. She tried to banish the thought, but that only seemed to make it stronger.

Isabela did seven shots of whiskey before she landed on the right answer. Hawke suspected she just wanted to keep drinking, since Isabela was choosing mostly strange colors. There was, in fact, a look of genuine surprise on Isabela’s face when she was correct. They knew she was right only when Fenris’s ears turned a little red and he cursed under his breath in Tevene.

“ _Red?_ Ooh, Fenris, I bet that looks marvelous,” Isabela said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hoping to get lucky tonight.”

“Even if I was, you wouldn’t be the one to know about it,” Fenris said.

“There it is, the cool sting of rejection,” Isabela said, fake-lamenting. “Perhaps Hawke, then?”

“What?!” Hawke nearly shrieked. Not that she would mind sleeping with Fenris. In fact, she would have zero problems with that being the outcome of this whole thing, but Hawke suspected that was both not going to happen and not something she was ready for. Especially because she couldn’t get another word out of her mouth at the thought.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Isabela said. “Like you haven’t been trying to get me in bed all night. You even got me drunk...er.”

“Wait, you meant...oh…” Hawke said. The pirate was truly the most wicked among them. Fighting the undead was a cinch compared to navigating the social seas while Isabela was in control of the ship.

“Don’t let her fluster you,” Fenris said. “That is part of her game.” He and Hawke exchanged small smiles, catching each other's eyes. Isabela and Bethany high-fived under the table.

On the other end, Anders was trying not to seethe, and failing miserably. Varric and him had been talking for most of the night, but the commotion with Hawke was hard not to draw attention. Now, the way Hawke looked at Fenris, of all people, was driving Anders insane. Not that it should be him in that position, (Hadn’t he and Justice agreed that it would be a very bad idea to actually pursue these feelings?) but Hawke should at least be interested in someone, anyone but Fenris.

Varric noticed where Anders was looking, clearly distracted from telling Varric about the time that Nyx, the Hero of Ferelden, had fought darkspawn in nothing but her smalls with her bare fists. Varric shook his head, leaning closer to Anders.

“You know, Hawke is many things, but she isn’t the brightest when it comes to how other people feel about her,” Varric said. “Perhaps you ought to tell her. If nothing else, it would at least clear the air.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Varric,” Anders said.

“Okay, stay in denial if you must,” Varric said, “but if you don’t tell her, don’t blame anyone but yourself if she does end up with someone else. Even if it’s someone you don’t like.”

Anders grimaced. Varric was right. Of course he was right, it was Varric fucking Tethras. He was always right, but still Anders had trouble facing the truth. The possible outcomes were one, Hawke didn’t return his feelings and Anders was heartbroken, or two, Hawke did but Anders had to turn her down anyway because a relationship between them would never work out. And Anders would be heartbroken. It was easier clinging to the rush it gave him to love her from afar, never able to pursue her in earnest but safe from hurting her.

That didn’t make watching Hawke any easier.

Back on Hawke’s end, Bethany was starting to ask about the expedition again. It was a subject Hawke had been avoiding, because while they waited for Bartrand, she’d been considering who to bring with her. There was only room for one more, and that could be Bethany. The question was, should it be?

“So I know you said Anders was going, and Varric has to be there, but you never said for sure that I would be with you,” Bethany said. “I am coming along, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke said. “I actually thought it might be a good idea for Fenris to come. Varric and Anders already stay far from the fight, and I’m not the best on my own. Fenris and I work well together.”

“The Deep Roads certainly can’t be any worse than the other caves you traverse,” Fenris said. “The only difference, I suspect, would be fewer spiders and more darkspawn.”

“Don’t forget more ancient dwarven artifacts with the potential to make you very, very rich,” Isabela added. She was focused, of course, on the most important part.

“Sister, you can’t leave me behind. We’re in this together,” Bethany said. “Has mother said something to you?”

“No, it’s not that,” Hawke said. “Though, now that you mention it, I really don’t like the idea of leaving mother with just Gamlen while she worries about us. Varric said Bartrand is expecting to have to travel for a week before we reach our destination, which means at least two weeks underground. She’d be practically alone and worried sick for half a month.”

“So I should stay behind and console her? I’m more useful to you there than I am to her here,” Bethany argued.

“I haven’t even decided yet,” Hawke said, hoping to just end the discussion there. “We can worry about it when the time comes.”

“It sounds to me like you _have_ chosen, and just don’t want to tell me,” Bethany said.

Hawke had to hand it to her, Bethany was always perceptive. It was impossible to hide things from her. Most of Hawke’s secrets were shared, not out of choice, but because Bethany had already figured them out.

The rest of the night was a little tenser, because Bethany refused to settle back down. Finally, Hawke just had to call it a night and take her sister home. It was no fun to be there while Bethany simply scowled. Anders jumped up as they were leaving, offering to walk the sisters home, but Hawke told him that wasn’t necessary.

Really, it wasn’t. Gamlen’s house was practically around the corner. Anders knew that, too. Hawke figured he was just trying to be a gentleman and look after them. It was sweet, but even if they did run into trouble it wouldn’t be a problem, because both of the Hawke women could handle themselves in a fight. He’d seen it firsthand, too. Anders shouldn’t have been worried. Of course, Hawke didn’t know that concern wasn’t the reason for the offer.

Varric patted him on the back as the sisters left the tavern. “Next time,” he said. “There is always next time.”

✖✖✖✖✖

One night later, and Hawke was out with Varric chasing a damn rumor. Aveline and Anders were thankfully with them, on the chance that the information was correct. With Varric’s sources, it often was, but there were still times it had turned out to be an exaggeration of the truth. Varric insisted that those times still counted as being accurate, though overblown accounts.

“I can’t stop other storytellers from getting excited and making things more dramatic than they actually are,” he said. “It would be hypocritical of me to try.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. She was less frustrated with the rumor they were chasing, and more upset about Bethany. It had been a whole day and things were still tense between them. Hawke just wanted the expedition to happen already so she could just make the decision and be done with it, one way or another.

“Looks like our information was right,” Varric said, pointing at a Chantry sister standing out in the open. A Lowtown thug was with her, and they were arguing about something. Payment, most likely. Though what a sister needed to pay Lowtown gang members to do was beyond Hawke.

When the thug’s men leapt out from hiding to attack, Hawke and the others sprang into action. Varric nailed the leader with a bolt to the face, ending that one nice and quick. Hawke was stealthy as usual, finding a place behind one of the gang members to stab him quickly and be done with it. Aveline was rushing two of the men at once, pushing one down with her shield while slashing at the other with her blade. Anders used his magic to give Aveline a boost of strength, adding force to her swings.

It took no time at all for them to finish the battle. The Chantry sister stood in awe of their ability. Aveline sheathed her weapons first, though she looked ready to pick another fight. Hawke hurried to put her daggers away and make sure Aveline didn’t get too hostile.

“What in the name of the Maker were you thinking?” Aveline shouted. “Coming out to Lowtown at night, by yourself, and dealing with members of a gang? What exactly were you trying to do, anyway?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that, myself,” Hawke said, placing a hand on Aveline’s shoulder. She shook her head in very slight movements, hoping the sister wouldn’t catch this gesture. Aveline rolled her shoulders, removing Hawke’s hand, but took a deep breath as well and effectively calmed herself.

“I’ve a matter of great importance that I need someone talented, but discreet to take care of. It seems you have just proven yourselves capable of such a task. If you care to assist, follow me. I promise, you will receive payment for your services,” the Chantry sister said. Then she walked away. By following, Hawke and the others were practically accepting the job already.

“This seems fishy,” Varric said.

“Of course it does. We rarely get ourselves involved in things where everyone is telling the truth and have perfectly reputable people involved. This hardly seems different,” Hawke said.

“But a Chantry sister?” Varric said.

“Maybe it’s a disguise,” Anders suggested. “Anyone could have stolen some garments from the Chantry and impersonated a priest.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Aveline said.

“Yeah, that would probably just make it worse,” Hawke said. “At least Chantry sisters are supposed to have morals.”

“Everyone has morals, Hawke. It’s just that some are a little looser,” Varric said.

They entered a dirty little hovel, not too far from Gamlen’s place. Inside was a templar with a serious balding problem, who stood stiff as a board when he noticed the sister had guests. The presence of a templar both made them seem more valid, and more suspect. Anders certainly wasn’t comforted by the man’s presence.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sister Petrice. The man aiding me is Ser Varnell,” Petrice said. Varnell bowed his head as his name was spoken. “The matter I require assistance in is quite delicate. I need you to get someone out of the city for me, sight unseen.”

“Who are we smuggling?” Hawke asked. Petrice gestured to the second room, a little further in. Hawke stepped forward, moving slow and with caution. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw their charge. “That’s...a Qunari.”

“Yes,” Petrice said. “This is what they do to their mages. I found him alone and frightened. No wonder, too, seeing the cruel things done to him. He cannot speak—or will not, I do not know—but I have chosen to call him Ketojan. I wish to see him freed.”

The four of them were horrified. The Qunari mage had his lips sewn shut and his horns sawed short, capped with pieces of metal. around the small sections of his horns that remained, red ribbons were tied to hold up a golden mask that obscured his vision. It was cracked unevenly to reveal the lower half of his face. Around his neck was a large cowl, like a collar, and from it hung massive chains that surrounded his body. His wrists bore cuffs, heavy on his arms. All of this told a clear story.

“I didn’t think there could be anything worse than the Circle,” Anders breathed.

“So you understand,” Petrice said, “he must be set free. Were he returned to his Qunari masters, they could see him killed or imprisoned again. It is my hope that we can prevent this.”

“And just how are we supposed to sneak him out? Cover him with a sheet?” Hawke said. Ketojan towered over all of them, and barely fit in the room. Sneaking him past the night guard and anyone else that might be wandering through the streets would be impossible.

“There is a passage through the Undercity. It leads out towards the Wounded Coast. The only people who could see you travelling through there would be common bandits and thugs. That’s why we need you to take them out,” Petrice said. She walked to a corner of the room, and moved a rug. It had been one of few things furnishing the place, and now Hawke saw why. On the floor was a small door with a latch. “This is the entrance to the passage you’ll need.”

“Convenient,” Varric said. “How is it a sister knows about things like this?”

“Does it matter? Ketojan is in grave danger. If he isn’t taken out of the city as soon as possible—”

“And what is his opinion on the matter?” Hawke asked, looking up at the chained Qunari. Ketojan could do nothing but growl quietly with his lips shut. “How do you know he wants to leave if he can’t speak?”

“Wouldn’t you want to be free, if you were him?” Petrice said. “I can’t claim to know his desires, but I believe in empathy. He deserves a chance to live, same as all of us. So, will you help us?”

Hawke bit her lip. “Alright, we’ll do it.”

✖✖✖✖✖

“You know, I would think he’d want to help out more, if we’re rescuing him,” Anders said. They had truly underestimated the number of thugs that could be lurking in this part of the Undercity, and were now breathing heavily after a long fight. Aveline had her sword stuck in the ground, leaning on the pommel.

“So much for the sister’s empathy,” Aveline grunted.

“Let’s just hurry up and get out of here,” Hawke said, busy disarming a trap in their path. The longer they stayed, the more chance there was of more people coming to jump them

They didn’t get too much further before more gang members blocked their path. Based on the nicer armor one of them was wearing, Hawke suspected they’d run into the leader. He apparently didn’t like that they were marching through the Undercity and killing all his men.

“And what is this? Collared like some dog lord’s bitch?” the leader said. Apparently being Ferelden just added insult to his injuries. “Are you some sort of Qunari lover? Maybe we ought to be rid of you and see who would pay the most for your little pet.”

Ketojan growled. For how little he responded, he definitely understood what was being said. Hawke hoped that wasn’t all he had picked up on.

“Hey boss, I don’t think that thing likes you threatening its master,” one of the lackeys said.

“Smart lad,” Hawke said. “Makes one wonder what he’s doing with the likes of you.”

“Shut it! Your people come here like you run the place, buying it all up and sending real Free Marchers like us running to the sewers. You would see us all suffering like animals. Like this monstrosity of yours. Well guess what? I’d rather see you dead,” the leader said. “Kill them and their little pet too!”

Ketojan did not like this. At last, he revealed his power, swirling a tornado of flames around his body before directing it at the thugs. Their leader howled in pain, his whole body engulfed in the fire. Two others beside him were taken up as well, before they fell.

Hawke watched as Ketojan took out most of the men alone, with Varric and Anders helping from afar. Aveline and Hawke stayed out of the fight for now, for fear that stepping in front of the raging Qunari would be a deathwish. Even when all the thugs were dead, Ketojan was grunting, his hands covered in flames.

“Ketojan, it’s over! Calm down!” Hawke said. “It’s alright.”

The Qunari mage lifted his arms, and Aveline grabbed Hawke’s arm to pull her back from a supposed attack. Yet, the fire extinguished, and Ketojan brought his hands back down to his sides slowly. He growled again to acknowledge Hawke’s words.

“Okay, okay, good,” Hawke said. Aveline released her grip, though her eyes still followed every movement with care. “How about we just not do anymore magic for now, alright? Thank you for your help, but just remember we are on your side.” Ketojan growled again. “Grunt once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no?’” Hawke said. Ketojan made one grunt, but Hawke wasn’t sure if it was actually a response, or simply a reactionary noise.

“He truly has a way with words,” Varric said. Despite the joke, his tone was grim. This thing was massive and powerful, and they had no way of communicating with him.

They left the Undercity, finding the right way out to the coast. It was easy enough to find, following the smell of salt waters. It was nice to be out in the light of day again, seeing the sun rising over the cliffside. They hadn’t even realized they’d been underground for so long. No wonder they were exhausted. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t free and clear just yet.

“Well, shit,” Hawke said, slumping her shoulders. Just ahead stood a group of Qunari. None of them looked like Ketojan did, chained and bound, which meant none of them were mages.

“You will hold, basra vashedan. I am Arvaarad, and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel,” one of them said. He, unlike the others, wore a helmet with bars over his face, the top accentuating the shape of his horns. Around him were campfires and tents. They had been waiting here for some time. “The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but the bodies lead us here to Saarebas...and you.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Hawke said.

“It appears that sister Petrice knew more than she said,” Aveline muttered darkly.

“Yet you are here with Saarebas. The crime is his freedom, his leash held by unknowing basra. This cannot be allowed. Your own mages may doom you, but Saarebas will be properly confined,” Arvaarad said.

“Does he have no choice in the matter?” Hawke challenged. Arvaarad stepped forward, and Hawke regretted speaking. The Qunari stood over her, but his head turned towards Ketojan.

“Show this basra that your will remains bound to the Qun,” Arvaarad commanded. Ketojan lowered himself onto one knee, head bowed in submission. “He follows because he wants to be led. Such is his purpose.”

“And you don’t care that this was clearly a trick? A trap set up by someone else?” Hawke said.

“It is a crime that will be dealt with,” Arvaarad said, “but the greater threat is clear. It is my role to secure Saarebas. To purge the perversions of your kind is the role of another.”

“And you treat all your mages like this?” Hawke said.

“We leash Saarebas because they are dangerous and their condition contagious. This is something not even your templars fully grasp,” Arvaarad said.

“I doubt they would be that opposed to chaining mages like this,” Anders said. “Templars agree with you more than you realize.”

Hawke shook her head. “No,” she said. “I will not give him to you. He deserves the chance to choose for himself.”

Arvaarad growled loudly. “You, basra! You have no sense. The opportunity for reason will be forced upon you,” he declared. He took a rod from his belt, waving it over Ketojan, who fell under its command. Even bound so tight, the Qunari still had further measures to restrict their mages. Arvaarad drew his sword.

“Varric! Smoke!” Hawke cried. Varric readied a smoke bomb bolt into Bianca, bursting a cloud around them. Hawke disappeared among the smog, using the confusion to her advantage. Aveline similarly charged, putting her whole body into her shield as she pressed against the Qunari. She was only able to made Arvaarad stumble, but it was enough to put him off his guard. She swung her sword and cut a gash into his center.

Hawke backed her up, focusing on the small points on his body that would bleed the most. Red gushed from every wound she sliced into Arvaarad. He was having trouble gripping his blade as he weakened, but he was not alone. Another Qunari rushed from behind Hawke.

Anders was ready with a frost spell, freezing the attacker in place. Hawke hurriedly whipped around and drove her daggers through the ice, cracking it around his chest as they sunk under his skin. Hawke pulled them back out, then continued into the crowd. She ran through, her blades cutting weak spots and veins as she passed. Once Hawke cleared on the other side, Anders let a fireball burst into the grouped Qunari.

Varric kept any that tried to get in Aveline’s way at bay, firing bolts with incredible speed. The quickness made some of his accuracy suffer, but it at least held them back long enough to keep Aveline from harm.

Despite the wounds Arvaarad had endured, he was now matching the guardswoman blow for blow. She was just a little quicker, yet, shoving off one of his attacks with her shield before thrusting her blade forward. The metal sank into Arvaarad’s flesh. The Qunari gagged, and Aveline gave his stomach a swift kick with the heel of her boot. He fell dead as her sword was released, coated in his blood.

“Face me!” Aveline cried, standing proud. “I stand for all of us!” She spun into another attacking Qunari and cut his throat in one fluid motion. If Hawke weren’t so busy in a fight of her own, she would have cheered.

“You guys are really relentless, huh?” Hawke breathed, sidestepping a Qunari that rushed her. She cut his arm into ribbons as he passed, causing him to drop his blade. She planted a dagger in his back, and watched him fall. Another came at her, but Anders was still watching, ever at the ready.

“I’ve got your back!” Anders called to her, knocking the Qunari back with bolts of fire.

“That’s my favorite apostate,” Hawke said with a grin.

With Arvaarad down, the rest were not as difficult, mere footsoldiers compared to his position of command. Varric had to shift his attention away from Aveline and back towards Hawke, who was stuck towards the back of the group, unable to cut her way back through. Alone, she wasn’t much good against these massive enemies. Aveline and Hawke continued to kill each Qunari that stood in their way, until they finally met in the middle, and all of the attackers lie dead. They needed to breathe for a minute before they could take care of Ketojan.

When Hawke found her breath evening out again, she found the rod on Arvaarad’s body. Hawke lifted it in hopes of figuring out how to free Ketojan, when a flash of light burst from it. In her surprise, she dropped the rod to the ground, her hand tingling from the jolt. Ketojan was starting to get up behind her.

“I am...unbound,” he said slowly. “It is odd. Wrong. But, you deserve honor. You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following. I thank your intent, even if it was...wrong.” He could barely move his mouth with the string wound taut over his lips, but it was enough for him to talk.

“You can speak?” Hawke said in awe. “Did that thing prevent you from talking, as well?” She pointed at the rod on the ground.

Ketojan nodded. “I know the will of Arvaarad,” he said. He started to walk towards the cliff’s edge. Hawke followed close behind. “I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom of the Qun.”

“I don’t understand. You’re free. Why choose death when you could make your own path?” Hawke said. The others waited where they stood, but they knew something was wrong.

“I do not want to die,” Ketojan said, “I want to live by the Qun. This is the path I choose.”

“But that means dying. How can you choose to have your decisions made for you? It makes no sense,” Hawke said.

“Is it that hard to grasp?” Ketojan said.

“Can you not simply go back, then? Or live among the Tal’Vashoth?” Hawke asked.

“Those are not Qunari, as I am. They do not follow the Qun. And I cannot go back. I was outside my karataam. I may be corrupted, I cannot know. How I return is my choice,” Ketojan said. “You could have more if you, too, submitted to the Qun.”

“No,” Hawke said. “You can’t do this. There has to be another way.”

“If you force choice, it is not choice,” Ketojan said. “Certainty is comfort. That is the way of the Qunari. The way of the Qun. Take this secret thing, Basvaarad, and remember this day.” Ketojan held an amulet in his hand. Hawke took it silently. Despite the flaws she saw in his logic, she knew he was at least right about one thing. If she forced him to live, it would be taking this last choice from him. Allowing him to die in his own way was the best chance at freedom he would allow himself.

Hawke cupped the talisman in her palm, then wrapped her fingers around it tight and squeezed. Ketojan let his own flames engulf his body, slowly burning alive as he fell to his knees. Hawke turned from the Qunari, unable to watch any longer. She saw death every day, but never like this. Hawke hurried back towards Anders, who was already prepared to embrace her.

“I could live for hundreds of years and still never understand the Qunari,” Anders said.

“He was free,” Aveline said, gawking. “Why would he do this?”

Hawke buried her face into Anders’ feathers. It was a familiar comfort, and one she desperately needed. In her pain, she found anger. It was a better way to direct this emotion than falling apart, again. Hawke stepped back, and put on the amulet Ketojan had given her. It was golden, in the shape of a horn that might call soldiers to war. She would wear it to honor the Qunari that had been free.

“I think Petrice owes us some answers. Whatever she might have known, she lead Arvaarad and his men right to us,” Hawke said.

“If this was her doing, I’ve a few questions for her,” Anders agreed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Petrice and Varnell were still in the hovel, trying to clear up their mess and wipe any trace of their presence from the place. Hawke scowled, rage bubbling up in her. Petrice stumbled backwards at their approach. She had expected them to die.

“You…” Petrice began, gathering herself. “You took the Qunari from the city without incident, I take it?”

“Why, you sound surprised, sister,” Varric said, a smug grin on his face. “In fact, you’re looking at us like you’re seeing a bunch of ghosts.”

“Mind your tongue, dwarf!” Ser Varnell snapped.

“It’s alright,” Petrice said, raising a hand to quiet her companion. “Please, do speak your mind.”

“Aren’t you tired of all these games? You left the bodies of the karataam so the path lead straight to us. What did you intend?” Hawke said.

“You come to me speaking their language and wonder why there is concern over Qunari presence?” Petrice said. “I suppose someone could have seen a use in making the Qunari suspect in the murder of those trying to help their slave mage. It would have cast doubt on how we have handled them, thus far. If such a plot existed.”

“If? You may as well have just admitted to it!” Hawke said, stepping forward.

Petrice flinched, but continued, “The word of a Qunari sympathizer against the word of a Chantry sister and a templar. I wonder who the Viscount and the Grand Cleric would be more likely to believe.”

Aveline stood tall beside Hawke. “And if I spoke out against you, as a member of the guard?”

“A guard could sympathize, as well. In any case, it would only look bad on that guard’s position,” Petrice said. She had an evil little smile sprouting crookedly on her lips.

“No, Aveline,” Hawke whispered. “I won’t have you fall because of me. Let me handle this.”

“Hawke…” Aveline said, her brow furrowed. But she argued no further for the moment.

“Do you even care that Ketojan killed himself, rather than living freely?” Hawke said.

“I assumed he would want to escape, just as I would. My pity is genuine, but they are not like us. We cannot expect them to act as humans do,” Petrice said. Her every word felt hollow. Hawke didn’t believe for a second that she truly felt sorry for the Qunari. Hawke held tight onto the talisman the Saarebas had given her.

“You’re awful,” Hawke said. “Do not expect me to forget this.”

“You are a Lowtown thug. Your word will carry no weight among those that matter. Do not take this as an insult, just an observation. It is, after all, why you were chosen,” Petrice said. She tossed a bag of coin at Hawke’s feet. “Take your coin and disappear like the rest of your kind. I won’t make the mistake of looking for help outside the faithful again.”

Hawke sneered and spat on the bag. “Keep your filthy money,” Hawke said. “I accept no reward for my involvement in this.” She turned and walked from the hovel. Hawke would not bend herself down as Petrice wished her to do. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

“We’ll want to keep an eye out for that one,” Aveline said as they approached Gamlen’s house. “She’ll be trouble, no doubt.”

“Agreed,” Varric said.

“Nothing we can do for now,” Hawke said, shaking her head. “Just go and get some rest. I know that’s what I plan to do.” Varric and Aveline had no qualms with this, and left Hawke’s side. Only Anders hesitated, staying behind for a moment or two longer.

“Do you want to talk?” Anders asked.

“Honestly, no,” Hawke said, running a hand through her bangs. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Anders nodded and made his way towards Darktown. Hawke entered the house, finding her family seated around the table eating breakfast. Leandra leapt up from her seat to hug her girl, starting another lecture about being out all night. Hermes ran circles around Hawke’s feet, barking excitedly at her return. She patted his head gently, taking her own seat while Leandra continued to scold her.

“I’ll get you a plate,” Bethany whispered. Hawke mouthed her thanks, feeling the growl in her empty stomach.

✖✖✖✖✖

Varric wasn’t usually a religious man, but if the Maker or the Ancestors or whoever it was the Dalish worshipped were listening, he was praying that Hawke was already awake. If not Sarah Hawke herself, then at least they could grant him the luck of having Bethany available to wake her.

Rivaini was already running ahead to Hightown to gather Broody and Aveline. Once Varric had Hawke and Sunshine, they’d make the rounds to find Daisy and Blondie. It was time for all hands on deck.

He cursed his short legs, always needing to run twice as fast to keep up with Hawke’s pace. Damn those elves and humans for being so tall. And double damn the Qunari!

Varric knocked on the door with urgency. Bethany answered, and Varric sighed. Before he even got the words out, Sunshine was on her way to get Hawke. Bless Bethany and her wonderful, patient heart. Hawke appeared at the door, half asleep and cranky.

“Varric, what are you doing here at this hour? Don’t tell me the Hanged Man has started an AM Happy Hour service. I think my stomach would actively try to kill me,” Hawke groaned.

“Hawke, I know better than to call on you during the daylight hours for anything so frivolous. I came here because it’s time!” Varric said.

Hawke blinked, clearly not getting it. “Time for…?”

“The expedition, Hawke! Bartrand just gave me the word this morning,” Varric declared. “Come on, get your gear. You too, Sunshine. We’re all coming along for this one. Anyone that isn’t with us has to see us off and wish us luck.”

“I’ll get my staff!” Bethany said, running back into the house.

“Have you told her yet?” Varric asked.

“No,” Hawke admitted. “I figured better to make it seem like I was just deciding in the moment. I could excuse myself for my ‘sudden’ emotions at the daunting task ahead.”

Varric shook his head. “She won’t be happy no matter when you tell her,” he said. “Rivaini is getting Aveline and the elf. We’re supposed to get Blondie and Daisy. Now go get dressed. I’ll be waiting out here.”

Hawke closed the door, only to appear five minutes later with Bethany, ready for action. They hurried away before Leandra could figure out what was going on, heading towards the Alienage.


	13. Into the Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally to the Deep Roads!!!
> 
> Eventually I won't be distracted by my life and not have as much time to edit as I hoped for... orz

Hawke felt a certain sense of pride swell in her as she and Varric stood with the rest of their friends behind them. There was power in her decisions, a sense of command in what she chose. Bartrand was pacing, having his own power trip as he went over the goals of their expedition. The other hirelings Bartrand had found stood around them on either side, with varying levels of capability.

“We’ve chosen one of the hidden entrances. The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering,” Bartrand said with a laugh.

“Now there’s an interesting image,” Varric mumbled.

“It will take a week to get to the depth we need. It should be a bit clearer because of the Blight, but don’t think that means you can sleep on the job. There are big risks we’re taking, but with big rewards on the horizon,” Bartrand said.

“Pace yourself on the trail mix, too,” Hawke said, smiling at Varric. “It’s got to last the whole trip.”

“I make no promises,” Varric said.

“Now, before we...wait,” Bartrand said, stopping his pacing and staring behind the crowd. “Who invited the old woman?”

Hawke didn’t even have to look to know it was her mother. Who else would be there? Their hopes of avoiding this confrontation were aiming too high, apparently. Bethany and Hawke separated from the crowd to speak with Leandra in private. Bartrand didn’t look too pleased about this extra delay.

“Mother, I know you’re worried, but—” Hawke started to say.

“I just wanted to know one thing. Are you planning on taking Bethany with you?” Leandra asked.

“I...I hadn’t decided, yet,” Hawke lied, avoiding her sister’s gaze.

“Please, I beg you not to take her. What if something were to happen? I couldn’t bear losing both of you at once,” Leandra said.

“Mother, I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. And sister, don’t even think of leaving me here,” Bethany said. “I can’t fight the templars, but at least I can take a stand against the darkspawn.”

“Sarah, I understand why you want to do this, but leave your sister here, please,” Leandra said.

“Mother is right, Bethany,” Hawke said. “I can’t risk both of our lives.”

“Sister, you can’t take this risk yourself and expect me to stay home,” Bethany insisted. “I want to go with you.”

“I know that. But you’re needed here. I promise you, I will return safe and sound. The others will take care of me, just as I’ll take care of them,” Hawke said.

Bethany jumped forward and threw her arms around her sister. “I love you,” Bethany said. “So you’d better not break that promise or I will be very cross.”

“I won’t. I love you too, Bethy,” Hawke said softly.

“You haven’t called me that since I was six,” Bethany said with a slight blush.

“Not to your face, I haven’t,” Hawke said with a grin. It earned her a punch on the arm, but after that, the Hawke sisters were laughing. “Take care of mother for me. And Gamlen, too. He’s still family.”

Bethany nodded. “I will. Show those darkspawn what happens when they mess with a Hawke.”

Hawke walked back into the crowd, leaving her sister and mother behind. Anders and Fenris, who already knew they were joining, stepped forward beside her and Varric. Bartrand nodded in approval, and directed everyone out of the city. Hawke and the rest of her friends said a brief goodbye, then parted. The time they’d been waiting for was finally here.

✖✖✖✖✖

Bartrand had declared, at a point that seemed random to Hawke, that it was finally time to set camp. The expedition had taken only a few breaks so far, trying to keep on the move while energy was up. Bodahn Feddic, the merchant accompanying the group, started to unload packs from his cart, with tents for each small batch of people.

“How can they even tell that it’s late enough to set camp? We’re so far underground,” Hawke said.

“I have no idea how they do it,” Fenris said. “Just follow the dwarves. It seems the safest choice.”

“It’s not like you slept normally before now, Hawke,” Anders chimed in.

Varric had been excused from setting up their tent because Bartrand wanted to make more plans, and Varric refused to be left out of that process. Hawke was just grateful that Fenris and Anders had either been quiet or civil for the trip so far. The more they got along, the better.

“I didn’t,” Hawke said, “but there are dwarves that live their whole life in Orzammar. No day, no night, just underground. I don’t think I could do that.”

“Then it’s a good thing you weren’t born a dwarf,” Varric said, walking up to them. “Nice job with the tent.”

“Everything with Bartrand go okay?” Hawke asked.

“Yeah, he just wanted to hear himself talk some more, I think,” Varric said.

“That doesn’t remind me of anyone we know,” Fenris said sarcastically.

Hawke snorted. “I can think of at least three people that fit that description, actually,” she said.

They went to eat dinner with the rest of the expedition. It wasn’t appetizing at all, but at least it went down quick without much of an aftertaste. Those were the highest compliments Hawke could think to give. She was longing for a meal from Bethany or Leandra, which made her ache. Only a day and she was already missing her family terribly.

“Do you think Bethany will be alright?” Hawke asked no one in particular.

“Your sister is strong. I’m certain she can take care of herself,” Fenris said.

“If you worry about anyone, worry about the people who are sleeping in the Deep Roads tonight,” Varric said. Hawke elbowed him. “Hah! I’m kidding. I managed to talk them out of scheduling any of us for a watch for the first night, by the way and you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Hawke said with a smile. She traced circles on the ground beside her. “Think there’s something special we can do for Bethany once we get back? To make it up to her.”

“Maybe buy her something nice? A new staff?” Anders suggested.

“Maybe…” Hawke said. She started drawing letters, spelling out everyone’s names. B-E-T… “I was hoping for something a little nicer, less practical. Something fun, but personal.”

“A party at the Hanged Man in her honor?” Varric suggested. V-A-R...

“I think she’d be really embarrassed by that,” Hawke said. A-N-D-E…

“Perhaps one of those fancy Orlesian dresses,” Fenris said.

“Because...she’s a girl?” Hawke said. F-E-N-R…

“Because she would look pretty in one,” Fenris said. “As would you.”

Hawke felt her face grow hot and drew her hands back in. “I...oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe she would like that, then. She always looked good in blue. Not sure about myself, though. Can’t exactly wear a dress and fight a bunch of bandits.”

“Indeed,” Fenris said, “when will fashion consider the woman on the go?”

Hawke was giggling. _Giggling_. Maker, she had it bad this time. She caught Varric’s eye, and tried her hardest to ignore that smug, knowing smile he always had.

They didn’t stay up much longer, knowing they would only be given so much time to sleep. They needed to take every moment they could. Upon approaching the tent together, it dawned on them that there would be some issues with the sleeping arrangements. The four of them were confined to one tent, and while there was room enough for all of them, they would be pressed up against one another in order to fit.

Anders and Fenris would not be good next to each other, that much was obvious to everyone. They might resort to kicking each other in the middle of the night if they had to be so close. But when they realized that meant at least one of them had to sleep next to Hawke, suddenly both of them became very awkward.

“I could sleep outside,” Fenris volunteered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s room enough for all of us,” Varric said. “Besides, it’s just Hawke.”

“...really, Varric? _Just_ Hawke? You make me sound as exciting as stale bread,” Hawke said.

“Okay, fine. It’s just Hawke, the goddess of beauty and sex. Bow before her,” Varric corrected.

Hawke rolled her eyes and opened one of the tent flaps. “I’m going to sleep before you can embarrass me any more. Work this out amongst yourselves.”

She heard mumbled arguments outside, but yawned over the noise. Hawke couldn’t care less, for the moment. They’d been walking all day and she needed some shut eye. Of course, if she was being honest with herself, she would be incredibly nervous—but also excited—to sleep next to Fenris. Hawke would be self-conscious about every part of their bodies that even slightly touched if that happened. Better if she fell asleep not knowing what the end decision would be.

Hawke made herself comfortable on one of the bedrolls in the middle, knowing that she and Varric would take those spots and serve as a buffer. In the morning, she would wake up next to whoever, and decidedly not give a damn. She hoped she could manage that much.

As it turned out, she would never know for sure. Hawke woke once in the middle of the night, her arm around Varric like he was her personal teddy bear. She was used to sleeping next to Hermes, snuggling her massive mabari. It made sense that Hawke would have confused the two while she was sleeping. But pressed against her back was someone else. Someone with a very gentle hold on her, whose breath tickled Hawke’s neck.

She had shut her eyes tight when she noticed this. Hawke wasn’t sure she wanted to know if it was Fenris or Anders. She would be disappointed or nervous or she might just freak out, and she didn’t want to disturb anyone. Hawke peeked over Varric with one eye, but she couldn’t see over him to be able to tell who was on the other side. Hawke gave up before long and stubbornly forced herself to sleep again.

In the morning, she was alone. Varric reentered the tent to wake her, but she was already sitting up. He let her know that breakfast was ready and handed her a comb. Hawke had terrible bedhead. She shook off the previous night as being no more than a dream, and didn’t bring it up with Varric or anyone else.

✖✖✖✖✖

Travelling together wasn’t so bad. They got into a kind of rhythm at a point. If Anders brought up mages, trying to instigate something, Hawke either distracted Fenris or just stayed behind with Varric until the two of them got it out of their systems. Hawke did have to admit that she didn’t blame them for getting a bit stir crazy under close quarters.

At least there was no repeat of the first night. Varric hadn’t gotten them out of keeping watch anymore. Especially because, once everyone else figured out that Anders was a Warden after he’d sensed darkspawn for them, they really wanted him up and keeping watch. Hawke was stern, refusing to let them exhaust her friend just for protection. Anders let them know that even in his sleep he could wake up if there was a strong enough presence. That satisfied everyone.

Varric still made sure not to schedule Anders and Fenris on a watch together. They were on their best behavior while Hawke was awake, but if she was asleep and they were not, Varric was certain they’d bicker until Hawke stuck her head out of the tent again. Besides, it was a prime opportunity to put Fenris and Hawke together for an extended period of time.

In an attempt to be fair, Varric did also put Hawke and Anders on some watch shifts together. Whatever way this worked out, Varric wanted to let Blondie have a chance. This meant that Varric was also awake with Fenris on watch, sometimes.

“So,” Varric said after a long period of silence. It had been driving him crazy to sit there with nothing to talk about. Fenris would have disagreed, but he didn’t mind that Varric wanted to talk, for now. “What was with you getting all cuddly with Hawke the other night?”

Fenris changed his mind. He definitely didn’t want to talk to Varric. “I must have rolled over in my sleep. It was not as it appeared,” Fenris said.

“Uh huh,” Varric said. “Do you do that often? I always figured you slept like you were in a coffin, all stiff and straight.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “I’ve not noticed one way or another,” he said.

“And no one ever complained about you being a restless sleeper?”

“Normally, I sleep alone. The other night was a rare exception.”

“How rare?”

“Rare.”

Varric could not help himself. “So, if I mentioned what happened to Hawke…”

“I would advise that you keep that to yourself, dwarf,” Fenris said.

Varric laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, shaking his head. “It will be our little secret.” Too bad for Hawke, who Varric was sure would have been delighted by this news.

✖✖✖✖✖

“I wonder what Isabela’s up to right now,” Hawke said.

“Knowing her, it shouldn’t be too difficult to deduce,” Fenris said.

“And Aveline?” Hawke said.

“Something noble, I’m certain,” Fenris said.

“Merrill?”

“Something unholy.”

“I said Merrill, not Isabela,” Hawke said with a grin. “What about Bethany?”

“I imagine you would know the answer to that better than I would,” Fenris said.

“But that’s not the point of this game,” Hawke said. It was something she and Varric had been doing while they walked. They made up wild stories about what the friends they left back home were getting up to. Varric was obviously the best at it, but Hawke came up with some imaginative things herself. One of her stories involved everyone getting together for tea, which slowly became disastrous and nearly got Merrill’s house burned down.

Needless to say, Fenris wasn’t as good at it. Hawke suspected he simply didn’t want to try.

“Bethany is…” Fenris began, staring up as he thought. “Bethany is going on a dangerous mission to spy on the Empress of Orlais.”

“Ooh, that is a good one,” Hawke said. “Why is she spying?”

“To find out the Empress’ secret...recipe. For creampuffs,” Fenris said. “Why can’t you play this game with Varric?”

“Because he insisted that the creative mind needs rest or something like that,” Hawke said. Varric had said to tell Fenris something to that effect, but in reality he was just pushing her to go and talk to Fenris. At least he’d been honest about it, this time.

“I see,” Fenris said.

“So,” Hawke said, “who hired Bethany to steal the creampuff recipe?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris said. He looked at Hawke’s expectant face and sighed. “The Viscount. He needs the recipe to...take over Ferelden.”

Hawke gasped dramatically. “I’m just glad you’ve revealed their evil plot before it was too late. We’ll sort out my sister as soon as we return to the surface.”

“I don’t know if that will work,” Fenris said. Despite himself, he was starting to enjoy this. Hawke’s enthusiasm was infectious. “She was promised land and a title to go with it.”

“My own sister,” Hawke said. “I can’t believe it. To think I left her alone with mother. Unless, she’s in on it, too?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Fenris said.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Anders,” Hawke complained. “Anders, my feet hurt.”

“I told you already, Hawke. I can’t do much for sore feet,” Anders said.

“Why are the Deep Roads so impossibly long?” Hawke asked.

“I have asked the same thing many times,” Anders said. “There was a reason I didn’t want to come back.”

“What does it feel like when you sense the darkspawn? Do you hear voices?”

“Sometimes, but it’s all nonsense. Usually it’s just this incessant scratching on the inside of my skull.”

“Sounds painful,” Hawke said.

“You do get used to it, after a while. It never feels better, but you can tolerate it more,” Anders said. “The nightmares are definitely the worst part of being a Grey Warden. Those never leave you, no matter how far you run.”

“That’s a cheerful thought,” Fenris said, half-grunting.

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression I was speaking to Hawke,” Anders said.

Hawke was already rolling her eyes. It had been nice while it lasted. She was turning to Varric, ready to start another intervention, when she noticed the group ahead stopping. Before the Anders and Fenris could really get into it, she was running to see what was going on. The others paused briefly, then followed suit.

The path ahead was blocked. They would have to go around it, but that meant going through tunnels the darkspawn themselves had carved. The place would be swarming with them. Exactly the sort of thing that Hawke and company were there to take care of. If they could clear a path through the tunnels, they could reach their destination safely. Just as they were leaving, however, Bodahn ran up to Hawke.

“Messere Hawke!” he called. “Something terrible has happened. My son, my Sandal, he’s gone missing. I’m afraid he might have run into the tunnel there. I don’t know what he was after, he just does these things sometimes. Please, if you’re going in there, could you look for him? Make sure he’s safe?”

“Of course, Bodahn,” Hawke said. “We’ll take care of him, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, thank you, messere. Thank you!” Bodahn said.

They didn’t get far before Anders grimaced. Darkspawn were approaching. They were, thankfully, of the mindless variety. Hawke had heard Anders’ tales of talking darkspawn that could think and plan. It sounded terrifying. These, however, were operating on base instincts to kill and feed. It made it much easier to be rid of them.

“I forgot how bad they smelled,” Hawke said, wrinkling her nose as she kicked a darkspawn corpse out of her way. “I think it’s worse down here, too. At least when we were running from Lothering, they were in the open air. Here it just all condenses into one big rotten… _bleugh._ ”

The group kept on the move, the other three in agreement with Hawke’s expression of disgust. She seemed to forget about that when they faced a group of spiders, one of them so large it could have eaten all the other spiders in the room. Hawke had to swallow a scream and kill the smaller ones, refusing to get near the biggest of them. Thank the Maker for Fenris and his giant sword, spilling the giant spider’s guts on the floor.

Every few paces, more darkspawn appeared. Hawke was beginning to wonder if they’d ever reach the other end, when they noticed a blonde dwarf standing next to a frozen ogre.

“Isn’t that Bodahn’s boy?” Varric said.

“Sandal? Are you alright?” Hawke asked, crouching down so she was level with him. “What happened here?”

“Not enchantment,” Sandal said, a dopey grin on his face. He showed her a rock with a rune carved into it. “Boom.”

“I see,” Hawke said. “You should go back to your father and let him know you’re okay.”

Sandal nodded, and ran back towards the camp. None of them were sure what just happened. It seemed best to just continue on and not discuss it. Too many questions without someone capable of giving answers. Hawke nervously passed the ogre ice sculpture, and traversed deeper into the passage.

There were more structured walls, here, which meant they were back on the other end of a dwarven thaig. It was good news, because it was a sign they were closing in on the path again. Bartrand was sure to be pleased. They cleared out the rest of the darkspawn in their way, as well as a dragon that Hawke was certain had no business being this far underground. With that taken care of, they were ready to tell Bartrand to pack up and lead everyone through. Hawke was ready for this adventure to start coming to a close. She couldn’t wait for the day to come when she would never have to see another bleeding darkspawn again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally stole that bit of banter from Mark of the Assassin that Fenris normally has with Bethany. It was just too cute and Fen was too smooth for that part, I couldn’t resist using it. I’m not actually planning on having Tallis be a thing, and if I do mention that adventure, it will only be in a timeskip. So...sorry to any fans of Tallis!
> 
> Yes, this is the shortest chapter yet. Don’t worry, the next one makes up for not much happening here. I swear.


	14. When Things Go Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually able to edit today! Posting early cause we're seeing Thor Ragnarok tonight. Should be fun!
> 
> Love you guys as always

“Holy shit,” Varric said. That was pretty much a good summary of Hawke’s own thoughts as they walked up to Bartrand’s discovery. This was the spot they’d been working towards the whole week, and it was unlike anything they’d seen so far. It was ancient. Everything in the Deep Roads was old, of course, but this was different. Older, and untouched for centuries.

“Was this what you were expecting?” Hawke asked.

“No,” Bartrand said. She had never seen him awestricken before, but his jaw could have touched the floor the way it hung open. “I thought...an abandoned thaig, something old, but this...what is this?”

Lyrium sprouted from the floor in patches, brilliant and blue as always. Yet, there were these unusual cracks in the wall, glowing a furious red. The architecture was a different style than the parts of the Deep Roads they had seen so far. It was elegance in simplicity, though with a few more rounded shapes than most Dwarven structures featured.

“How did you even know it was here?” Anders asked.

“Old scavenger tales, back from the third Blight,” Bartrand said, his voice nearing a whisper. “A week below the surface, and no one believed them. Even if they did, no one wanted to travel that far beneath the ground, so far into darkspawn territory.”

“I can’t blame them,” Hawke said. Her armor still bore the stench of the taint. She was already planning to buy a new set with what money they made on their findings here. Hawke just hoped she’d find another that was such a nice shade of green.

“But it does look like the stories were true,” Varric said.

Bartrand turned, addressing the rest of the group. “Make camp here! We’ll need to have a look around,” he said. Bartrand gestured to Hawke and Varric, which meant Fenris and Anders followed along as well. “I’m going to need you four to scout ahead, see what you can find. You’re more capable than the rest of these blighters put together.”

“That’s got to be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me,” Varric said with his usual smug expression. Hawke was sure Bartrand was used to seeing that. She wondered if even a small baby Varric had been capable of looking so pleased with himself. That would have been something to see.

Bartrand grunted, but otherwise ignored his brother’s comment. “Nothing in this place makes sense. The dwarves that must have lived here had to be long before the first Blight, but there are no statues of Paragons, no markings on the walls that I recognize. Even the rubble...ah, sod it.”

“It was a long time ago,” Hawke said. “Any chance these dwarves were just different?”

“We have been mired in tradition for many ages. I know enough of our history to know these dwarves must have been unique. I just hope they kept their valuables close at hand,” Bartrand said.

“The older the stuff, the higher the price, right?” Hawke said.

“Exactly. You’re starting to catch on,” Bartrand said. “Now get moving.”

For a while, it was mostly more of the same stuff they had encountered in other areas. Wave after wave of darkspawn came at them, easy enough to dispatch without trouble. There was one old golem that activated when Hawke got too close, but with enough focus, it still proved to be no true challenge to the four of them. They had a sort of unbeatable rhythm after a whole week of fighting as a unit.

Anders knew what to look for to prepare a healing spell for Fenris or Hawke. Fenris could read Hawke’s movements and tell when she would need a bit of backup. Varric knew when to hide allies in smoke or set the enemy aflame, humming Bianca’s Ballad as he went. Hawke was able to command them expertly. Anders could freeze an enemy for Fenris to smash into pieces. Hawke could confuse a number of the darkspawn and line them up for Varric to get a perfect shot. They felt unstoppable.

Finally, they came to a large room with giant pillars on either side of them. Some were cracked or entirely broken, but the place still held solid. A staircase lead them straight up to a stone slab table, which displayed an artifact that was sure to be of great value. It appeared to be some kind of idol, perhaps of whatever these ancient dwarves worshipped.

“You see what I’m seeing?” Varric said. The four of them all stared at the artifact.

“Is that...lyrium?” Anders said.

“Isn’t lyrium usually blue?” Hawke asked. The idol had the same red glow the cracks in the walls showed. It was an odd thought, but Hawke could not escape from the sense that it was angry.

“It’s definitely magic, and not the good kind,” Anders said.

“It usually isn’t,” Fenris said.

Anders glared, but managed to hold his tongue for the moment. They turned back to the door at the sound of footsteps. Bartrand had caught up with them.

“Look at this, Bartrand,” Varric said, going partway down the stairs to greet his brother. “There’s an idol made of lyrium. That has to be worth a fortune on its own. Imagine what else we might find, here.”

Bartrand joined them at the top of the steps and whistled. “Excellent find,” he said. “I’ll take that back with me.”

Hawke reached over it, but hesitated before picking it up. The feeling that something was restless and enraged within it only grew stronger as her hand grew closer. It sparked and glowed more fiercely than before. She heard a faint whistling in her ears, but it wasn’t Bartrand. It was distant and melodic. Hawke grabbed the idol, and the sound disappeared as if it had never been there. Its shine calmed as well, back to the faint light it had before. She handed it over to Varric, who tossed it to his brother.

“We’ll go see what we can find further in,” Varric said.

“You do that,” Bartrand said. He was cradling the artifact, holding it close to his body.

“I guess we should get going then,” Hawke said. There was the sound of stone grinding on stone. Her attention was drawn back to the door, which was closing slowly. “Shit!”

Hawke slid down the railing, hoping to reach it in time to stop it from closing. The others ran behind her, but they were at the door just as it slammed shut. Hawke threw her fists against the hard stone.

“Bartrand!” Varric called. “It’s shut behind you!”

They could hear a muffled laughter from behind the door. Hawke looked to Varric. Any trace of joy on his face was gone. This was no accident.

“You did always notice everything, Varric,” they heard Bartrand’s voice, just clear enough to make out the words.

“You have got to be joking,” Varric said. “You’re going to screw over your own brother for some lousy idol?”

“It’s not just the idol. The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune. I don’t plan on splitting that three ways. Sorry, brother. At least you don’t have to die alone,” Bartrand said.

“Bartrand! Come back here, Bartrand!” Varric shouted. He backed up, slamming his shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge, but Varric sucked in air and threw his hand over his arm. That was sure to leave a bruise. “Nug-humping… Fuck!” He stepped back, still rubbing his shoulder. “I swear I will find that son of a bitch—sorry, mother—and I will _kill_ him!” Varric paused to sigh, then looked up at Hawke. “Let’s hope there’s a way out of here.”

“If there is, Varric, we’ll find it,” Hawke said. “Then I’ll hold your brother, and you punch.”

“Deal,” Varric said. “You deserve a few swings, too. He’s screwed us both, here.” Then Varric looked at the other two. “Plus Blondie and Broody.”

“You can have my punches,” Anders said. “You’ve got a better arm. Plus, he is your brother.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Varric said.

Hawke lead them through the door on the other side of the room. Thankfully, this one just needed a bit of a shove to get open. Heavy, but not immovable. There were more of the familiar long corridors with large red cracks in places.

The whole place made Hawke shiver, and not because it was cold. In fact, this far underground, it was incredibly hot. Fighting only made her warmer. Hawke considered asking Anders to cast an ice spell to cool them down, but it was better to have him reserve his mana in case any of them got injured. The discomfort and irritability were just two more things they had to deal with.

The architecture was starting to give Hawke the impression that this was some kind of temple. What was worshipped here was definitely not the Paragons. As a pseudo-Andrastian, Hawke was completely lost. If there was some kind of evidence as to who these ancient dwarves had meant to honor with these structures, she couldn’t tell.

What really got her was that some of the rocks, thought to be nothing but rubble, got up and started moving. Not like golems, who at least had a solid, constructed form meant to be controlled. These stones floated around each other, with sparks of energy floating between them like veins. Some of them even looked like they had ribcages formed from pure light. With enough magic and force, they broke apart and returned to being immobile rocks.

“Bloody flames, what were those things?!” Varric said, once again voicing what all of them were thinking.

“I’ve no idea,” Hawke said. “Out of all of us, I figure you would have the best chance of knowing.”

“Well, I’ve heard of rock wraiths, but those are supposed to be legends,” Varric said.

“We’ve encountered a lot of strange things today. I’d say mythical rock wraiths isn’t the hardest thing to believe,” Hawke said.

“True enough,” Varric agreed.

Further in, they started to see quite literal lyrium veins. They clung to the walls like vines, glowing that same furious red that Hawke had seen all over the thaig. They wrapped around chunks of plain blue lyrium, almost as if they meant to choke them like weeds. Hawke tried to think of home, and carried on.

Their path was eventually blocked by a wraith that was three times the size of all the ones they’d encountered before. Hawke tightened her grip around the pommels of her daggers. That was when it spoke.

“Enough,” the rock wraith said. “You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed without need.”

“A talking rock,” Hawke said. “Okay, Varric, number one spot for weirdest thing we’ve seen today?”

“I’d say that takes it,” Varric agreed with a nod.

“Listen, Mr. Rock, your friends attacked us. We’ve just been looking for a way out, that’s all,” Hawke said.

“What are you anyway?” Varric asked.

“They are the profane. They hunger. They have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know,” it said.

“Lyrium addled rocks. Does that trump talking rock, or…?” Varric said.

“Debatable,” Hawke mused. “But you said ‘they.’ Like you aren’t one of them.”

“I am not as they are. I am...a visitor,” it said.

“It seems mostly interested in their hunger,” Anders said. “It’s a demon, come to feed.”

“I would not see my feast end. You wish to leave this place, and you cannot do so without my aid. There is a door beyond here, but what it lacks is its key. I can clear the way, give you your key, and help you escape,” the demon offered.

“Don’t take the offer, Hawke. Demons will trip you up every time,” Anders said.

“For once, I agree with the mage,” Fenris said. “We can make our own way.”

“You heard them,” Hawke said. “No deal.”

“Most unwise,” the demon said. A swarm of the profane surrounded them.

Anders launched a fireball straight at the demon, sending it bursting to pieces. A shade arose in its place, but Hawke was prepared, digging into it with her daggers. It returned to nothing but shadow in an instant.

“Not so big and scary now, huh?” Hawke taunted. She caught sight of a profane attacking from her left, and kicked it backwards. It hit a pillar behind it and shattered. The rest they were able to kill in similar manners, smashing them until they fell apart.

“So,” Varric said, placing Bianca on his back, “I’d say rock possessed by a demon is in the lead for weirdest thing we’ve seen, right?”

“The night is young,” Hawke said. “Or...day. I still can’t tell, to be honest.”

Varric shook his head and let Hawke lead on. They encountered more rock wraiths, providing a challenge as the group grew tired. There was only so long they could keep this up, and the profane kept coming. Hawke prayed for an end, but the Maker seemed to have a shitty sense of humor.

The next room housed a wraith ten times the size of the ones they’d seen before. At its core was a chunk of red glowing rock. A piece of the strange lyrium, Hawke realized. Despite the creature having no mouth, it emitted a roar that shook the whole room. Hawke felt her heart sink into her gut, but swallowed back her fear.

“Varric, fire at will! Anders, keep Fenris shielded,” Hawke commanded. More profane rose around the center one. “And take out the ones on the side!” She looked to Fenris, who caught her gaze and nodded. He knew what to do.

Fenris leaped into the air, sword swinging in a downward arc and crashing against the rocks in front of him. Some of them crumbled away, but most just cracked. The wraith retained his form. Hawke found her shadows, helping Anders deal with the smaller enemies on the sides. Varric saw those falling, and focused his fire on the large wraith in the center. Bolt by bolt, he blew chunks off of its body.

But then it condensed. Fenris jumped backwards, avoiding the rocks that swirled around the lyrium piece. It sparked with light, charging up for an attack.

“Hawke!” Fenris called.

Hawke looked from the wraith she’d just defeated to the large one in the center, just before it burst into beams. It seared their skin. Hawke found refuge behind one of the pillars in the room.

“Behind the pillars!” she shouted for the others. They were on the other end of the room. She could only hope that they’d figured out the same thing she had.

The rocks fell once the giant wraith realized it wasn’t doing any more damage. It rose up again, reformed and strategically blocking its core. They needed to strike the lyrium rock, or it would keep getting back up. It even drew pieces from its fallen allies to strengthen its body.

Hawke grimaced, with a plan to refocus her attacks. Felling the smaller ones made attacking simpler, but strengthened the large wraith’s defense. She attempted to break the stones at the creature’s base, thinking of it like a human form. Without strength in its legs, it could topple and wound itself in the fall.

Varric kept trying to land that perfect hit, realizing just as Hawke had that the lyrium core had to be destroyed if they had any hopes of getting out of here with their lives. Yet, the creature was attentive, blocking every bolt that flew from Bianca. Varric continued the assault in the hopes that it couldn’t keep this up forever.

Hawke’s attacks were actually helping, though not in the way she’d intended. They were providing a distraction, leaving the profane spinning and splitting its attention between Varric and Hawke. Fenris’ assault was becoming a bit of a problem as well, as he broke away more parts of the creature.

It roared again, its anger growing. Hawke could feel it, same as she’d sensed a fury in the lyrium idol. These unnatural beasts were given life, but they seemed unable to feel beyond their hunger and rage.

Anders finally felled the last of the smaller rock wraiths, leaning on his staff and panting. His mana was low, each attack debilitating him. Justice burned within him, giving him an extra burst of strength. It would only last so long, but he wanted to put off taking a lyrium potion as long as he could.

Yet, time was running out. The wraith, torn between three targets, finally chose one. Hawke was unprepared for a hand of pure stone to paw at her, only barely stepping out of the way. But this was its plan. As soon as she’d stopped, just for a moment, a large stone flew from the creature and struck her stomach.

Hawke was flung backwards, then stumbled until she collapsed. It had cut through the leather of her armor, the material weakened from so many previous blows. A gash spread from her navel to the side of her ribs, the blood pouring thick and red.

“Hawke! No!” Anders shouted. He ran to the other side of the room, dodging an attack from the wraith. “Don’t be dead,” he begged. “ _Please._ ”

Hawke’s hands clutched the wound, coming away bloodied. Anders tore a lyrium potion from his pouch, needing all the strength he could muster for this. Fenris and Varric noticed the commotion, their eyes wide with horror.

“No, I will not allow it!” Fenris growled. He charged at the wraith, swinging his sword wildly. Fenris just wanted to see this thing die. “ _Fenedhis!_ ”

The wraith was gathering itself again, swirling in the center of the room. Fenris needed to retreat, back to the shelter. Varric was at his side, hiding from the blast the creature prepared. Yet, one of the group was too injured to move themselves.

“Dammit!” Anders said, grabbing Hawke’s body. He carried her to a safe spot behind one of the pillars at their side of the room. As he held her close, Anders heard Hawke’s breath, still there, but raspy. Not a good sign.

The red light burst from the rock wraith’s body, engulfing the room again. Only in the shadow of the pillars were they safe. Anders laid Hawke on the ground as gently as he could. No matter what else was going on, he had to focus on healing. Green creation magic formed in his hands, but he felt Justice tugging at him as well. His eyes glowed blue, the spirit granting a burst of power to his magic.

As soon as the beams of energy faded from the room, Fenris and Varric leapt from their hiding place and started a counterattack. Fenris no longer cared for maintaining stamina. This monster had to die and it had to die _now._ His blade cut down pieces of rock, clearing a path straight to the red lyrium core. Fenris moved with such swiftness, the profane found itself unable to reform a shield.

“Varric! Now!” Fenris yelled.

Varric was already prepared with a bolt loaded onto Bianca. It was a bit heavier than the standard bolt, and a bit thicker. It was meant for a target that deserved devastating pain. Varric could think of nothing more appropriate than a monster that wounded Hawke.

It fired, striking fast and true into the lyrium piece. It cracked, the lines spreading over its surface until it shattered into millions of pieces. The remaining energy exploded from the wraith in a blast, the rocks that once formed it flung around the room. Fenris managed to dodge them all and Varric ducked back behind the pillar.

They had no time to relax, even with the profane defeated. They ran to Hawke and Anders. Magic swirled around Anders in tendrils. His skin looked like it had cracks where Justice’s light shined forth. Fenris scowled at the sight. Anders could heal Hawke while he could do nothing but wait. The wound was so big; why hadn’t he been there to stop it?

“Heal her faster!” Fenris said. “She’s losing blood.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Anders said, but his voice was mixed with the low growl of Justice.

“Stop fighting with each other and focus!” Varric shouted.

Hawke stared up at the three of them. Her vision was blurry, but she could see the varying looks of fear and concern. Fenris’ face was not the angry look she expected. It was softer, vulnerable. She couldn’t bear to see it.

“I’m fine, guys,” Hawke said weakly. “I’m...fine…”

Her world turned black.

✖✖✖✖✖

There was a gentle swaying, like the rocking of a boat. Was she at sea? That didn’t make sense. Hawke fought to open her eyes. What she saw was more reasonable. The high ceilings illuminated only by cracks of lyrium and constructed rivers of magma told her she was still in the Deep Roads.

“Where…?” Hawke croaked. Her voice was still weak.

“Hawke?” Varric said. He hurried up beside her. “Blondie! Hawke’s awake!”

“What?” Anders said. He ran to Varric’s side, and the swaying motion Hawke had felt slowed to a stop. “Hawke! Are you alright? How do you feel? Oh, thank the Maker you’re awake.”

“It...hurts,” Hawke said, then cleared her throat. “How long was I—?”

“About a day,” Anders said quickly. “You lost a lot of blood.”

Hawke paused. “Who am I on?” she asked.

“That would be me,” Fenris said gruffly. He’d been carrying her piggy-back style. Just how long had he been holding her? “Shall I put you down?”

“Probably a good idea,” Hawke admitted. She didn’t say that she really wanted to stay this close.

Fenris let her slide slowly from his back, making sure she got proper footing before fully releasing his grasp. Hawke tried to move on her own, but stumbled. Fenris caught her before she could fall. He wrapped one of Hawke’s arms over his shoulder to keep her steady.

“I was the only one with the strength to carry you,” Fenris said.

“Most mages have noodle arms,” Anders said with a shrug.

“Hey, I have the strength,” Varric argued. “So long as Hawke didn’t mind her feet dragging on the floor.”

Hawke laughed, but cringed. Pain shot through her.

“Maybe we should try not to make you laugh until you’ve healed more,” Varric said.

“How are we supposed to pass the time, then?” Hawke said. She was waking up a bit more now, and noticed they were in a different part of the Deep Roads. There were no red cracks and the Paragons were well represented. “We made it out?”

“Just beyond where the giant profane had been, there were a load of chests full of treasures. Varric loaded his pack with the best pieces when he found the key for the door. The demon hadn’t lied about that bit, but definitely stretched the truth on how necessary his help would have been,” Anders said. “Let me take Hawke for a while, Fenris. You’ve carried her this far.”

Fenris didn’t argue as Anders bowed his head under Hawke’s shoulder, taking her weight. Hawke removed her arm from Fenris, though she hadn’t really wanted to move. She had to admit that he deserved the break if he’d been carrying her as long as it seemed. But Fenris smelled so nice. What right did he have to still smell good after over a week of travel in the Deep Roads?

“Here’s your sword, elf,” Varric said. He’d had Fenris’ blade in his arms, since Hawke was on Fenris’ back where the sword would usually be.

“How’s the pain?” Anders asked Hawke. His voice was so soft, as if a loud voice alone might hurt her more.

“Bad,” Hawke said simply. Anders closed his eyes for a moment, then she felt a warmth spread from within him. He’d told her what this was called once before: panacea. A mage had invented the spell while staying at the side of his bedridden lover. Or so Anders had said. It was a slow, gentle release of healing magic.

“So long as you stay close,” Anders reminded her, “I can take away your pain.”

Hawke felt a blush rise in her cheeks. Was this the same Anders she’d always known? On her other side, Hawke thought she heard Fenris grunt. She turned her head towards him, but he was looking away. Hawke figured she’d imagined it.

“How much longer before we hit the surface?” Hawke asked no one in particular.

Varric was ready with an answer, “Five or six days, if we’re unlucky.”

“And if we are lucky?” Hawke said.

“We stumble over Bartrand’s corpse on the way,” Varric said.

Hawke chuckled again, which still hurt, but not as bad with Anders’ healing magic. Still, laughing was out until Hawke was better. They went along their way, all hoping that the darkspawn would leave them be as long as possible.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke was well enough once they stepped into Kirkwall that she insisted on going home by herself. If anyone would deal with the wrath of Leandra, it would be her. Varric went to start finding his contacts, optimistic about the price their treasures would fetch. Fenris and Anders both appeared hesitant to leave Hawke alone, but went their separate ways nevertheless.

Though Anders made her swear to come see him tomorrow to change her bandages again. They’d used up all the supplies they’d had on Hawke’s wound. She didn’t want to ask Anders if this one would leave a scar. Even with all his healing techniques, it was still barely closed. There would be a permanent mark to remind her of the Deep Roads.

Gamlen’s house was just as Hawke remembered from the outside. Dirty, small, and in a seedy area. With the money Varric would make them and Leandra’s associations with nobles, they were sure to get out of it soon enough. The only thing they would leave behind was Gamlen himself.

When Hawke stepped inside, however, her heart sank. Cullen stood in his full templar armor, speaking with Leandra in hushed, but desperate voices. Bethany walked out of their bedroom, eyes downcast. She wore the robes of a Circle mage, with her staff strapped to her back. It was a scene straight out of Hawke’s nightmares.

“What is going on here?” Hawke demanded, clenching her fists. She wasn’t fool enough to try punching Cullen, tempted as she was. That didn’t mean she could still make herself appear as threatening as possible.

“Sister!” Bethany said, finally looking up. The other two gained Hawke’s attention as well. Bethany looked as if she might cry. “Please, don’t do anything rash.”

“Mistress Bethany is being taken to the Circle of Magi in the Gallows. Where she should have been a long time ago,” Cullen said, crossing his arms.

“No,” Hawke said. “You can’t take her. That place is practically a death sentence for mages. I’ve seen how your templars operate, Knight Captain.”

“Sarah, it’s done,” Bethany said, stepping between them. “We knew this would happen someday, didn’t we? I’m only sorry for the timing of it all.”

Hawke hugged her sister tight, not caring for the pain in her side when she squeezed. This was her baby sister, the little girl she’d half-raised herself. She’d already lost Carver. How could she let Bethany go?

“Despite what you may think of us, serah Hawke, we will give Bethany the best instruction she could hope for. She will be among others like herself. The Circle is the best place for a mage to be,” Cullen said. “You should consider yourselves fortunate that the viscount himself requested we spare your family the punishment of harboring an apostate.”

“But what will happen to her?” Leandra said, voice breaking.

“Mother, I’ll be fine. Father taught me everything I know. Whatever test they could give me will not be difficult,” Bethany assured her. She turned to Hawke, adding, “Take care of her.”

“I will,” Hawke said. “I swear I will. Promise you’ll write?”

“Of course,” Bethany said.

“Let’s go,” Cullen said. He lead Bethany to the door, and they were gone. Leandra could take it no longer, and fell to her knees, weeping. Gamlen finally appeared, holding two cups of tea. He was doing what he could to look after his family. Hawke wasn’t sure if she should be feeling surprised. She was numbed from the shock.

“I’ll get another cup,” Gamlen said after placing the first two on the table. Hawke helped her mother up into a chair, finding a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

Together with Gamlen, Hawke cared for her mother until she was exhausted. Leandra’s grief spared Hawke from the lecture she still expected for her wound. Hawke didn’t want to sleep in that room with the extra bed they no longer needed. Instead, she curled up on the floor with Hermes, who had been whining since Bethany left.

“You miss her too, huh boy?” Sarah said. Hermes licked her cheek. “Yeah. I know you do.” She settled in against the mabari’s belly, forcing herself to sleep. After the past few nights spent on the floors of the Deep Roads, sleeping on the floor of Gamlen’s house was far more comfortable.


	15. Healing

Hawke started in a seat, but then moved to her knees. Was this a better position? No, maybe the chair was right. She wasn’t sure what looked natural, like she was used to doing this. She could feel the judging eyes surrounding her. Finally, she clasped her hands together, determined to just get this over with.

“Serah Hawke?” a familiar lilting voice called.

Hawke whipped her head around to find the speaker, and was met with the baby blues of one Sebastian Vael.

“You’re an unfamiliar sight in the Chantry. I hope I’m not interrupting your prayers.”

“Not at all,” Hawke said. Now she definitely felt silly on her knees. She moved back to the seat she’d had before, inviting Sebastian to sit with her. “I actually wasn’t sure where to begin. I’m more of a holiday Andrastian, personally.”

“I see,” Sebastian said. He’d heard this often. “Perhaps I can help you find the words. What’s on your mind that brings you before the Maker?”

“Maybe we can talk about you first?” Hawke said. She had no idea how she was expected to spill her guts to the guy she’d met just once. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already tried just talking it out with a friend. Varric, Isabela, Aveline, Anders, and Merrill had all heard of her woes. The only one who she hadn’t really spoken to much was Fenris. That was one of those woes.

“If you think it might help,” Sebastian said, though his eyes wandered away. “What would you like to know?”

“How are things going with Starkhaven? I heard about the Circle there, and you said you were going to the viscount to seek aid?” Hawke said.

“Ah,” Sebastian said. He should have seen this coming. “I’ve not spoken to the viscount much, I’m afraid. He is a busy man, it seems, even when people’s lives could potentially be at stake. Excuse me, I don’t mean to sound bitter. I’m sure he is a wise man, but it does get frustrating when you seem blocked at every turn.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” Hawke said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know it’s still a fresh wound.”

“It’s alright. I know you meant well. Besides, now that I’ve opened up, perhaps you trust me enough to tell me what’s bothering you,” Sebastian said with a bright, toothy smile.

Hawke knew he was handsome, but he was more handsome in the way that her sister appreciated. It was this perfect kind of beauty no man should be able to achieve. Hawke preferred people who were a little rough around the edges. Which was probably exactly the reason she was having trouble in her love life.

“Where to begin...” Hawke said with a sigh. She started by telling him about Bethany. Sebastian, being a Chantry brother, clearly disapproved of the fact that her sister had been an apostate, but still understood why Hawke had kept her close. Family is family, and Sebastian would do anything if he could have his family back again. Hawke agreed, thinking of Carver and her father as well as Bethany in the Gallows.

Hawke mentioned that they had started to write one another, but getting messages in and out of the Gallows was a slower process than it should have been. Hawke suspected that if she’d not already made some good impressions among certain templars, like Ser Thrask, that it would be even longer. The letters she did receive were not the same as they should have been.

Bethany clearly kept things out of the letters, in case they were being read by the templars that delivered them, and Hawke had to do the same. She covered up any mentions of Anders by saying she’d been visiting a cat down in Darktown. What had started as a sloppy cover up was now a running joke between the sisters. Merrill was safe enough to mention, so long as they kept magic out of the conversation, and any illegal activities her friends got up to were never discussed. Which sucked, because those were some of Hawke’s best stories.

Which brought Hawke to Fenris. He was rarely mentioned in the letters other than an urging from Bethany to go visit him again. It wasn’t that Hawke didn’t want to see him. In fact, she wanted few things more. Things had simply gotten so awkward after the return from the Deep Roads, and Hawke suspected she knew why.

“It’s healed now,” Hawke said, after describing the encounter with the rock wraith. “Nothing but a scar and some bad memories, but it’s affected how I interact with Fenris. The first time I went to see him after the Deep Roads he got mad at me. Told me if I didn’t take so many risks when I fought, I wouldn’t get hurt like that as often or as badly. After that, it took me a while to go see him again because of my stupid pride.

“Then he was quieter. Fenris apologized for yelling at me, and said it was just because he was worried. But that just confused me more.” Hawke was playing with her hair as she spoke, and now she dragged her hands over her head. “Ever since then I only stop by to make sure he’s still there, not taken by sl…by surprise from my visits.”

Hawke wasn’t sure mentioning Fenris’ whole backstory was a great idea. Sebastian might be a nice guy, but she didn’t trust him that much. She had also avoided mentioning any of the apostates she still kept in her company, as if she were working on a letter for Bethany. The only difference was Anders wasn’t a cat, but a regular old healer who used conventional, non-magical methods in his work.

“I see,” Sebastian said, for what must have been the thousandth time that conversation. “What exactly is your relationship with this man?”

“Fenris? He’s...a friend,” Hawke said.

“Well, it’s perfectly natural for a friend to worry about you. He was likely so scared by the fact that you might have died that he took it personally,” Sebastian said.

“I guess I just didn’t think he cared that much about me,” Hawke said. “Though he was always looking after me in the middle of a fight. In case I slipped up or wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings.”

“So he’s used to protecting you?”

“I guess? I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Hawke admitted.

“He may believe he let you down,” Sebastian said.

“But he didn’t!” she said, a little too loud. Hawke shrank, covering her mouth and reminding herself where she was. “If anything, I let him down. Everyone tells me I should be more careful, but I still jump right into the thick of things before really thinking about what I’m doing. I’m just...I’m no good in a fight if everyone has to constantly look after me.”

Sebastian remained silent this time, deep in thought. He did the whole thing, scratching his head and tapping his chin as he looked all around. When he reached a conclusion, Sebastian sat up straight. His eyes gleamed with excitement.

“I may have a solution to your problem,” Sebastian said. “Your style may be better suited to a position outside of the fighting, from a distance. Have you ever considered taking up archery?”

“Not really,” Hawke said. “Plus, the only one I know who uses a bow actually has a _cross_ bow. Different technique.”

“I suppose I could teach you, if you’d like to learn,” Sebastian said.

“Hold on a second,” Hawke said, turning her body towards him, “you’re an archer?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Is it that strange? I wasn’t always a brother. Anyone in line for the throne was taught to fight, but my parents thought I was too young and rash for a blade. It was my grandfather who suggested teaching me to use a bow. He called it the wise man’s weapon. Able to defend your castle without opening your gates.”

“Do you have one here? I didn’t think they’d let you keep weapons in the Chantry,” Hawke said.

“No,” Sebastian said, lowering his eyes. “The bow I used was in the castle when my family was attacked. I’ve no idea if its still there or if it has been taken. It belonged to my grandfather, so some mercenary might have thought it would be worth a bit of coin.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “In that case, I can buy a bow and some arrows. If you’re serious about teaching me.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this, Hawke, I promise. You will need to truly commit yourself to this, if you wish to learn,” Sebastian said.

Hawke nodded.

“Good,” Sebastian said. “Then let’s work out some sort of schedule. I’m not sure the Grand Cleric would approve of this, so let’s keep it between us, for now.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke’s mornings were now occupied by archery practice with Sebastian. Unfortunately for her, he wanted the lessons to be very early, which her usual lifestyle was not suited for. The late nights with Varric and Isabela in the Hanged Man came to a screeching halt. Leandra was confused to see her daughter going to bed at reasonable hours, and waking up bright and early.

Whenever someone saw Hawke, she had sore arms. They would also notice her habit of carrying around her new shortbow. Once she was proficient enough, Sebastian offered to buy her a proper longbow. Hawke remembered stories of the Dalish hunters that Merrill had told, and hoped that she might be able to get one from the craftsman made of ironbark.

“Careful now,” Varric warned, “or Bianca might get jealous.”

It was a rare night that Hawke allowed herself out, but even Sebastian agreed that she deserved a reward for her hard work. He didn’t approve of the location, but he understood, which was enough. The Hanged Man just wasn’t for everybody.

“Actually, I was thinking of naming the bow Bethany. For obvious reasons,” Hawke said.

“It would suit her, I’m sure,” Varric said. “So, are you going to tell me who’s been teaching you, since you’re so obviously cheating on me with them?”

“Oh, Varric, no one could ever replace you. I just needed someone who knows how to use a longbow,” Hawke said.

“Who says I don’t?” Varric said. Hawke stared him down. “Okay, I don’t, but you never asked.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said, leaning over to kiss Varric’s forehead. “Please, forgive me?”

“Only if you tell me who you’ve been running off with every morning,” Varric said with a smirk.

“Would you believe it’s the prince?” Hawke said. “Apparently Sebastian Vael has some surprising talents for a brother of the Chantry.”

“So you’re not cheating on me?” Varric said.

“Of course not.”

“And you’re not cheating on Broody?”

Varric would later insist that watching Hawke nearly spit out her ale was worth the punch on the arm it earned him. Anything that pushed her into going to see Fenris again was worth it. He knew for a fact that most of Hawke’s other friends were in agreement.

Not that he’d mention the running pool on how long it would take those two to get together. If he did, he’d have to admit his money was on a lengthy six years. It was the one bet Varric was hoping he’d lose.

✖✖✖✖✖

The Amell estate was marvelous. With all their things moved in, it actually felt a little like home, too. Not that they’d even had much, but Leandra had allowed Sarah to have some input on what furniture she’d buy for the house. Hawke remembered specifically asking her mother _not_ to buy any creepy statues, but above one of the fireplaces stood a spooky-looking sculpture that held a laughing mask in front of its face.

“Its eyes are following me,” Hawke insisted.

“Oh, stop that, will you?” Leandra scolded. Still, she was laughing.

It was nice for Hawke to see her mother genuinely happy, without a single sign that she might break into tears sometime soon.

“I’m not sure what possessed me to get it, to be honest. But it was heavy and the movers won’t be taking it back out.”

“Alright,” Hawke said. “But if I wake up one day and it’s waiting for me right outside my room, I’m moving back in with Gamlen.”

“Be nice to your uncle. He’s been looking lonelier by the day since we started working on getting out,” Leandra said.

“Maybe if he’d been less insufferable we’d let him live with us here,” Hawke grumbled.

“There is that,” Leandra said with a sigh. “In any case, don’t stay here all day. You’re young, you should be going to meet people and enjoying life! As long as that doesn’t involve getting into fights again.”

“Mother,” Hawke said. “I’m much better with my bow now. And I did actually hit the guy, eventually.”

“Just keep that nice young man with you if you must put yourself in danger,” Leandra said.

“Who, Fenris?” Hawke said.

“No, no, that other one with the blonde hair. The one that saved your life and kept checking in while you were healing. He’s such a sweet boy. If I was his age…”

Hawke plugged her ears. “Lalala! Don’t need to hear my mother fantasizing about my best friend!”

Leandra was laughing again. “Oh, stop it, you know I’m only kidding. But he is handsome. Is he single?”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’m out the door! Goodbye, mother! Don’t wait for me for dinner tonight!” Hawke said quickly.

Since Leandra started getting over Bethany’s departure, she seemed to be trying to put Sarah on the fast track for grandkids. Hawke didn’t see it too worth mentioning that she didn’t even want to have children, since she currently wasn’t even seeing someone. She also didn’t want to enter into the conversation that the person she was interested in probably wasn’t the sort of son-in-law that Leandra had in mind. They could cross that bridge when (and if) they came to it.

Hawke had stumbled out of the house without a plan or actual thought on where to go. She did have her bow and a quiver full of arrows on her, as always. If she got bored from wandering the Hightown markets, she supposed she could always head out of the city and find a decent place to practice. If she shot some wild fowl, Hawke could bring it to Merrill so the girl would actually eat.

Though Hawke would never again make the mistake of bringing her a rabbit. Seeing Merrill cry like that made her die a little inside. She hadn't hunted among the Dalish, clearly.

“Oh, miss, aren’t you Leandra Amell’s daughter?” someone said. Hawke looked up and saw a young nobleman. She tried to recall the people Leandra had introduced her to, but she could be so terrible with names. Honestly, Hawke wasn’t even sure she’d ever seen this guy before in her life. But his clothes were too nice and too froofy to belong to anyone but a noble.

“Yes, though my surname is Hawke. Sarah Hawke, um, that’s my name,” she said. Curse Malcolm Hawke and his (apparently genetic) love of puns.

“Oh, yes, the lovely Lady Hawke,” he said, taking her hand. It took all the self-control in her body not to pull away immediately.

“I’m hardly a lady…” Hawke said. Why was it men like this could never tell when she was uncomfortable?

“I think you seem deserving of the honorific, my lady. There are less beautiful women who have the same title. Why shouldn’t you?” he said.

“My, aren’t you...forward?” Hawke said. Her bright gold eyes looked all around her, crying for help.

“Hawke.” She turned all the way around, finally pulling her hand away from the nobleman to see who spoke. The voice was unmistakable.

“Fenris!” Hawke gasped. “What are you—”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Fenris said. He walked up and put an arm around her. Hawke’s face grew hot. “You were supposed to meet me at the Hanged Man.” He was looking into her eyes, drawing his face close.

“I was?” Hawke said quietly. Then, a little louder, “I was. I was going there, just now. I simply got distracted by these lovely…” She looked to the stand she was near and picked an item at random. “...swords. And then I ran into…” Hawke still didn’t know this guy’s name. “...Heinrich.”

“It’s Hubert,” the nobleman said.

“Hubert, right,” Hawke said, as if she knew the whole time.

“So you didn’t plan to stand me up?” Fenris said. Hawke was certain she would faint.

“I...I should be going,” Hubert said, looking like a mabari with his tail between his legs. “This seems like a private conversation.” He practically ran away, after that.

Fenris released Hawke as soon as poor Hubert was out of sight. She was glad for it, because she was dizzy from the closeness. Hawke smoothed her hair down before even attempting to look at Fenris again.

“I should thank you,” she started, “except you may have just besmirched my reputation. I suspect I shan't be invited to anymore dinner parties.” Hawke was sure to look extra dramatic, so he’d absolutely know she was joking.

“I suppose the fact that you’re frequenting dinner parties explains why I haven’t seen you, lately?” Fenris said, playing along.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Hawke said. “Things have been… I was going to… You deserve more than a shitty excuse.”

“It’s alright, Hawke. I suspect you were busy,” Fenris said. “Could that thing strapped to your back have anything to do with it?”

“Huh? Oh,” Hawke said, realizing he was pointing at her longbow. “Partially. I’ve been getting lessons from Seb. I mean, Sebastian Vael. We’re also kind of friends now, I think. Anyway, I’m getting pretty good with it.” Then, it occurred to her. “I thought you didn’t like wandering around Hightown that much.”

“I don’t, and I wasn’t,” Fenris said. “I meant to buy a new blade.”

“What? What happened to your old one?” Hawke asked.

“The fights against the profane damaged it more than I initially thought. It has started to crack,” he explained.

“Oh,” Hawke breathed. An image flashed through her mind. His face as she faded, staring with worry over her injured body. It was the same memory she kept seeing, and kept trying to forget. “You want my help finding one?”

“No need,” Fenris said. Hawke shrank, but saw that he was picking up a sword from the stand she’d been near. “This should suffice.”

He paid the man and sold the old one. The smith would be able to work it back into a functioning sword, though it would never be as strong as it once was. At least Fenris kept a little coin for the exchange.

Hawke walked with him, down to Lowtown where people were less likely to stare. Hawke wished she had the lecturing skills of her mother, so she could tell some of those with wandering eyes how rude it was. They ended up in the Hanged Man, after all, because there wasn’t really anywhere else to go in Kirkwall. At least the Hanged Man had some friendly faces. Except for right then, when both Isabela and Varric were apparently elsewhere.

“Well, at least that means she can’t sucker me into paying for her again,” Hawke said.

“Isabela is very talented, in that regard,” Fenris said. He tried to drink some of the ale, and made a face. “I still don’t think I will ever understand how you stomach this.”

“It’s a talent,” Hawke said, and took a large gulp just to emphasize it. Fenris rose to the challenge, and took another drink.

“ _Bleugh_ ,” he said, sticking out his tongue. “Disgusting.”

Hawke tried her hardest to contain the fit of laughter that caused. Fenris had no idea how adorable he could be. Hawke had tried to explain it to Varric once, but of course no one believed her. Only Hawke saw how cute Fenris was in moments like this.

“I admit, I’m curious,” Fenris said. “Why have you taken up archery?”

Hawke shrugged. “It seemed like time for a change. Seb... Sebastian said that fighting from a distance seemed to suit me. Plus it keeps me far from any actual danger,” she said.

“And this decision had nothing to do with your injury from the Deep Roads?” Fenris asked. Hawke thought she saw a twinge of guilt in his face, but decided she had imagined it.

“If I’m being honest, then yes, it had a little to do with that.” _A lot, actually._ “I hated feeling like a burden to everyone else and making all of you worry.” _Making you, specifically, worry._

“You are not a burden, Hawke,” Fenris said.

“Thank you for saying so,” Hawke said quietly. Did he not have control over the intensity of his eyes? They seemed stuck at the highest level.

“Are you...liking the change?” Fenris asked. He looked away. Maybe Hawke’s eyes were more intense than she realized, as well.

“Actually, I feel like it was made for me,” Hawke admitted. “I’m much more comfortable with a bow than I ever was with the daggers and Seb is an excellent teacher. Though I did make Varric a bit jealous by not asking him first.”

“But Varric uses a crossbow,” Fenris said.

“That’s what I told him,” Hawke said with a smile.

Fenris attempted another sip of the ale, made a face and noise of disgust again, then finally pushed the mug away for good. He would stick to wine. Hawke covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

“I am...relieved,” Fenris said. “Your mother will worry less if you are more cautious.”

“Hah, hardly,” Hawke said. “The only way to get Leandra Hawke to stop worrying is if I settled down and gave her a ton of grandkids. Which I don’t see happening anytime soon.”

Fenris quirked one of his eyebrows, then gave her a smirk so wicked it rivaled one of Isabela’s. “Hubert seemed ready for marriage,” Fenris teased.

“And that is when I know that you have been spending too much time with Varric,” Hawke said.

After a few more minutes, the both of them decided they were restless. Hawke told him that she’d been thinking about going outside the city to practice her archery some more, and Fenris decided he wanted to come along and watch her. Hawke wasn’t sure she’d be able to shoot as well as usual, knowing that Fenris was studying her movements, but let him come with her, because she liked having him nearby. He sounded genuinely impressed when he complimented her on her skill.

“Seb says I’m his best student,” Hawke joked. Fenris looked confused, so she clarified, “I’m his only student.”

“Why do you call him that?” Fenris asked.

“Huh?”

“Sebastian. You shorten his name,” Fenris said.

“It’s a nickname. Sort of a term of endearment, I guess,” Hawke said. “Honestly I started doing it because he would get flustered, but then it just became a habit.”

“Aren’t nicknames supposed to be like the ones Varric chooses?”

“You mean like Broody?” Hawke said with a grin. Fenris scowled. “That’s his thing. I just shorten. Like Seb or Bethy. For you it would probably be...Fen.”

Fenris seemed to be considering this nickname. Hawke was getting lost in thoughts of how cute he was again when he said, “Alright.”

“Alright, what?” Hawke said.

“You can use your nickname, if you want to,” Fenris said. “Fenris isn’t even my real name. Just something that Danarius chose for me. His ‘little wolf,’ he said.”

Hawke paused. “Do you know what your real name is?”

“No,” Fenris said. “That memory is gone like all the others.”

“And you never chose to call yourself something else?” Hawke asked.

“I thought I just did.”

Hawke smiled. “Alright, Fen.” She actually really liked the nickname for him. What was more, he was accepting it as an affectionate gesture. Hawke was positively giddy at that thought. “Want to see if I can get Merrill something for dinner?”

✖✖✖✖✖

Anders had gone over this hundreds of times in his head. Nothing seemed right. It would never be the right time. Varric had even agreed with him on that. He didn’t need the right time. Just a time. Except Justice was still telling him there shouldn’t even be that.

When Hawke showed up at the door to the clinic, soaked from head to toe from running outside in the rainstorm, Anders’ caretaker switch flipped. He pulled her inside, starting to scold her about getting sick and how he wasn’t going to take care of her if she had a cold. It was a complete lie, both of them knew it, but he was determined to stick to the threat anyway.

“Anders, I had a reason for being out there,” Hawke insisted. He was too busy wrapping her in a blanket.

“I don’t care what your reason was, Hawke. You could have waited for this storm to pass,” Anders said. He put a towel over her head. “Dry your hair out, it’s dripping everywhere.”

“Anders, you don’t understand, I—”

“Spare me the excuses,” Anders said. “I’m going to make you some tea. Wait right there.”

Hawke was laughing, which frustrated Anders even more. Couldn’t she at least try to take this seriously? He felt like he was always trying to take care of her. Of course, he didn’t actually mind, because it was Hawke and he would have done anything for her, but it drove him insane to see her coming up with new ways to need him.

“Anders, seriously, stop for a second and just look,” Hawke said.

Anders groaned, turning around with plans to scold her more, when he heard the tiniest little meow. In her hands was a small tabby kitten, grumpy and wet.

“I found it in Lowtown all by its lonesome. I think he hurt his leg. He was walking kind of funny and he couldn’t get out of the rain. I was thinking you could take care of him, maybe name him Ser Pounce-a-Lot II?”

It was too much. Hawke was too beautiful and too kind. Even soaked to the bone she was the most wonderful thing Anders had ever laid eyes on. And here she was holding this cat, with little scratches on her hands from when it must have gotten scared. It was just too much. Hawke was too much.

Anders walked up to her, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her. He wasn’t able to stop himself anymore. Anders had held back time and again while he knew that he loved Hawke. Her lips were so soft and her breath was so warm, even though the rest of her skin was cold from the rain.

Anders pulled away, ready to look her in the eyes and confess everything. But Hawke’s expression made him doubt. She didn’t just look surprised, but almost scared. The words died in his throat.

“Oh…” Hawke breathed. “Oh, Maker, Anders I… I’m sorry I just...don’t.”

He felt a weight drop in his gut. Anders stood, facing away from her. He’d been so foolish. How could he have made such a huge mistake?

“You’re one of my dearest friends, and you mean so much to me, but I have feelings for someone else. I’m really sorry,” Hawke said.

She placed the cat on the ground. It ran under one of the cots, but stayed there, tucking in on itself to get warm.

Anders didn’t need to ask who it was that Hawke cared for. He’d seen the signs, heard the way Hawke spoke to him. She acted differently around Fenris. More controlled, in a way, but also more relaxed. The way Hawke smiled at Fenris was different, even. Of course Anders had known. He’d simply hoped he’d been wrong.

“Please, just...go,” Anders said weakly. He picked up the kitten, who meowed in slight protest. Anders ran his hands over it, starting to heal its leg. The cat settled into his grasp. After a moment, it even started to purr.

Hawke stood watching him, then moved back the way she’d come in. Anders needed to focus on making something better. He heard Hawke close the door behind her, and finally Anders broke down.

He couldn’t believe he’d done that. He shouldn’t have done that! Now Hawke would act strangely around him, and nothing would ever be the same. The kitten chirped at him, bumping its small face against Anders’ cheek. With this cat came one of his best memories, and one of his worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, yes, I am that mean, and I’m not sorry. Second of all, of course the part with Fenris is self indulgent. You should expect that sort of thing from me by now.


	16. Moving On

It was hard to believe, but Hawke was standing in the Viscount’s office, speaking to the man in charge himself. Aveline had been the one to deliver the news and escort her there. Aveline hadn’t liked being treated as a messenger, but Hawke knew she was also enjoying the fact that the Viscount had relied on her personally. If Hawke asked, she was sure Aveline would insist that they asked for her simply because it was a well known fact they were friends.

That may have been true, but it also showed some confidence in the new Guard Captain. Aveline had only recently been sworn in, but this was really a formality, as she’d been acting in the position of captain for the past three years. Hawke suspected a certain Senechal of being responsible for the ceremony being put off so long. Bran didn’t seem to like them. Or anyone, really. He probably didn’t even like himself.

The Viscount had called for Hawke, apparently, because the Arishok had done the same. Why they hadn’t just sent a Qunari messenger to find Hawke, well, that was probably because the easiest way to find her now was to go to her home in Hightown. The Qunari might have been accepted as taking up a place by the docks, but seeing them wandering the streets of Hightown would cause citywide panic. Going the roundabout way made sense, even if it felt silly.

Hawke was instructed to take particular care in these dealings. Whatever the Arishok wanted, Viscount Dumar wanted peace. However Hawke could manage to keep that peace, he expected her to do that. She was dismissed, and met back with Aveline outside the office. Seneschal Bran sneered at the two of them, and went about his business.

“Aveline, you’re here all the time, so tell me,” Hawke began, “does the Senechal always have a stick up his arse?”

Aveline smiled but shushed Hawke. She couldn’t be “Fun Aveline” when she was in the Viscount’s Keep, but she would loosen up later that night in the Hanged Man. If only her guardsmen knew there was more to Aveline than met the eye.

“Speaking of you always being here, it’s been a while since we’ve really talked. How’s being Captain of the Guard treating you?” Hawke said.

“You can wipe that grin off your face. I can’t ignore crimes if I see them, even if someone I know does happen to be involved,” Aveline said.

“I was not asking about that,” Hawke said, pretending to be deeply insulted. “Honestly don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do Hawke,” Aveline said. “About as far as I could throw you.”

“Good thing you’ve got tons of brute strength then, huh?”

Aveline shook her head and sighed. “I mean it Hawke. The last thing I need around here is more trouble. You do a lot of good, I know that, but you do it through unofficial channels. Perhaps it’s time you consider stepping up and _being_ someone. Otherwise, you’re just making my job harder.”

“Oh, come off it. I know you love it,” Hawke said.

“I do,” Aveline said. “It’s hard work, but well worth it. Just wish most of it wasn’t behind a desk.”

“I think I know how to help with that little problem.”

“Go with you on more wild adventures? Sure, I’d love to. Anything that got me out of that stuffy office. Except I don’t have the sort of time I used to. I can’t shadow you whenever you please anymore,” Aveline said.

“Isn’t the Guard Captain the one who schedules the patrols? Wouldn’t that mean that you could, say, give yourself free time to come and slay monsters with me?” Hawke said, batting her eyelashes.

Aveline couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend’s antics. “You have a point there, Hawke. Just try to give me some advance notice. No more running into the barracks screaming about the latest cavern full of spiders that you’ve found.”

Hawke shuddered at the thought. “Those are the exact kinds of caverns I try to stay far away from. But, would you like to come with me to see what the Arishok wants? It may be useful to have someone from your perspective come along.”

“Alright, Hawke. How about I meet you at the compound? I’ve got a few things here that need taking care of first,” Aveline said.

“Go ahead and take your time,” Hawke said. “I was thinking of checking in with a few people before I went.”

“You mean Fenris?”

Hawke blushed. “Not just him. I have to see how my favorite dwarf is doing, too, you know.” Hawke was certain that Merrill and Fenris himself were the last people left who didn’t know about her crush. Most of the people in the loop simply took every opportunity to tease her about it. Isabela insisted she did it out of love, and because the look on Hawke’s face when someone brought it up was just too cute.

“I’ll see you at the compound, then,” Aveline said. Hawke nodded, and turned to leave.

Just outside the door was Bodahn Feddic, out of breath and wheezing. “I’ve...been looking...for you everywhere, messere!” he said, pausing every few words for a breath.

“Sorry, Bodahn. I didn’t expect to be at the Keep right now either, but duty called. What was it you needed?” Hawke asked.

“I came to deliver this to you. The last of the proceeds from all that treasure you found in the Deep Roads. Seems you keep getting wealthier by the day,” Bodahn said. “A nice new home, too. How do you and your mother manage such a large estate by yourselves?”

“Oh, we’re not alone. Hermes likes to help clean up, too. Slobbers on the floor to keep it nice and shiny,” Hawke said.

“If you are having any trouble, I could offer my services to you. I owe you a great debt from when you saved my boy—Sandal’s life. In fact, I must insist on helping you on. Sandal can enchant that bow of yours as well, and your armor. He’s quite good at it,” Bodahn said.

“You don’t owe me, Bodahn. I helped Sandal because it was the right thing to do,” Hawke said.

“Which is precisely why I am offering my services to you. You are a good person, messere. I would like to repay you in the only way I know how,” Bodahn said.

“In that case, we’re glad to have you with us,” Hawke said. “If you’re heading there now, do me a favor and let mother know about our arrangement. She’ll have to cook for four, tonight.”

“Yes, messere. Right away.”

When Bodahn was out of sight, Hawke sighed. He clearly wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. They did really need the help, anyway. The last thing Hawke wanted was to come home and find that her mother had collapsed trying to climb up and dust that ugly statue or a high bookshelf. Not that Anders couldn’t fix any injury from that, but…

Hawke hadn’t really spoken to Anders much lately. She got a few periodic updates from Varric to let her know he was fine and templars hadn’t snatched him up. Hawke was certain that they wouldn’t be able to get the same kind of mercy they’d shown with Bethany. Despite how Hawke worried about Anders, she couldn’t bring herself to go see him. She’d stopped in maybe twice for a potion, but that was it. When she was there, he barely looked at her anyway.

Hawke put it out of her mind. She’d walked all the way to Fenris’ mansion, and she wasn’t going to let negative thoughts spoil her day. The thing with Anders—whatever that _thing_ was—would work itself out. She hoped.

“Fen!” Hawke called. She liked to give him some warning that she was there, rather than bursting into his room first thing. He could be busy or even undressed. Hawke now had _another_ thought to shake out of her head. And this one came with visuals.

“Fen?” she said again.

He popped out of the main bedroom, his white hair pushed in every direction with a hand rubbing sleep from his eye. She’d forgotten it was still fairly early, and Fenris was a bit of a kindred spirit in how he slept. Usually neither of them were up before noon, but when the Viscount calls on you, it’s not wise to stay in bed too long.

“Hawke,” Fenris said. “You’re up early.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I could come back later if—”

“That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep even if I tried,” he said. Fenris tried to smooth his hair down, but then just mussed it up again. Somehow, this method worked, and his hair was tamed. Hawke wished her haircare was that simple. Fenris met with her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry,” Hawke repeated. “So, besides a growing contempt for me and my upsetting lack of tact, how have you been?”

“Largely the same,” Fenris said. “You do realize we only spoke two days ago?”

“A lot of things could change in two days. A lot of things could change in one, even,” Hawke said. “Is it so bad of me to just want to see you?”

“If I know you, Hawke, that isn’t the only reason for your visit. If you’re this lively this early in the day, I could only guess that you’ve something you need help with,” Fenris said.

“It’s like I’m made of glass the way you see through me,” Hawke said. “Alright, yes, I do have something to do. The Viscount called me in this morning, only to tell me that the Arishok requested me. By name. You made a good impression on him last time, which could help us.”

“Was there no mention of what he wanted from you?” Fenris asked.

“Nope, not even a hint,” Hawke said.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if it had something to do with the dwarf again,” Fenris said. “Were you heading there now?”

“In a little while. I was headed to the Hanged Man, first. Never hurts to have Varric along.”

“Then let us go.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline was already by the compound when the others arrived. They stepped inside, not certain what to expect, but the Arishok never disappointed when it came to being ominous and intimidating. As it turned out, Fenris had guessed correctly. Someone had stolen the formula for _gaatlok_ , their explosives. Except, the Qunari had not simply left that formula lying around.

What they actually stole was the formula for _saar-qamek_ , a potent poison. If someone stole it with the intention of making a profit, they would create a large amount of powder. That much _saar-qamek_ would kill not only someone fool enough to make it, but everyone within its radius. How far that could extend, Hawke did not want to know.

The obvious suspect was Javaris. Varric knew someone in Darktown who was selling off his property. This proved that yet again, Varric was an invaluable member of the team. It was off to Darktown to find this member of the Coterie. This time, they had to move fast.

Hawke was jumpy when they got to Darktown, however. Only Varric knew that she was desperately hoping to continue avoiding Anders. Hawke had confided in Varric, because that was what she always did, but after a few months of dodging the mage, Varric was starting to push her to speak with him again. Varric also happened to know the other side of things, and seeing Anders wracked with guilt was not easy. Problem was, the both of them were stubborn and nervous.

“Blondie is probably in the clinic. We won’t run into him unless we head that way,” Varric reminded Hawke.

“Right, yeah. But what if he steps out for some supplies or something? Or Pounce II tries to escape and he needs to chase him?” Hawke said. She was doing a little nervous habit of hers, wrapping a bit of hair around her finger. It had been a while since she’d given it a decent chop, so now it reached just past her shoulder blades. Which meant there was plenty of length to wind into coils.

“I promise you, we won’t run into him. Now relax. The Coterie like to take advantage of people who seem nervous,” Varric said.

Hawke managed to settle enough to speak with the woman selling of Javaris’ property. Apparently he’d run off very suddenly for some reason. Everyone was suspicious, but he was well hated, so most people had figured it was just a good thing to get him out of their hair. Hawke could hardly blame them for that. The good news was the woman had a lead to where he was. They thanked her and followed the trail.

Hawke stole one last glance in the direction of the clinic before they left. Except, she then noticed Fenris watching her, and tried to pretend like it meant nothing. She was back to being anxious and just wanted to get out of there. It helped that they had something to do, which gave her a reason to hurry away.

✖✖✖✖✖

Javaris’ guards were pathetically easy to be rid of. Were there really just no good mercenaries in Kirkwall anymore, or was Hawke really getting that good with her longbow? It did help to have a distant perspective, so she was able to see the whole group at once. Hawke even warned of attacks before they could happen, giving Fenris and Aveline chances to block anyone that came at them.

Javaris was on his knees and shaking when they were finished. He clasped his hands together, prepared to beg for his life.

“Go ahead and take my coin, take whatever you want from me, but let me go,” Javaris said. “I don’t want anything more to do with this rotten city, or you, or anything here.”

“I don’t care about your coin. Where is the _gaatlok_ formula?” Hawke demanded.

“The what? The Qunari explosives? Don’t tell me you work for them now,” Javaris said.

“I’m trying to prevent people from dying. The formula they had was a decoy. If you make it, you’ll be creating a poison that will kill you and anyone around you. Hand it over and we’ll let you go,” Hawke said.

“There’s one problem with that. I don’t have it,” Javaris said through grit teeth.

“Normally I wouldn’t believe this but, Hawke, I don’t think he’s lying,” Varric said.

“Of course I’m not lying. You just killed all my guards and you could easily kill me. I’ve no reason to lie, I just want to get out of here with my life. But I gave up on those Qunari explosives back when you were involved. It wasn’t worth the trouble. If anyone has it, it has to be that crazy elf that came around asking tons of questions. Of course she’d pass this off as being my fault, too,” Javaris said.

“Wait, slow down, what elf?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t know who she was, but I know where she was heading. She was going to Lowtown, which meant I was going anywhere _but_ Lowtown. You might want to hurry, that bitch has a screw loose,” Javaris said. “Now, can I please go about my business? I’ll probably need to sell off all the gear these men had just so it wasn’t a waste to hire them.”

“Just...go,” Hawke said, shaking her head. Then she whispered in an aside to Varric, “Do I look that creepy when I loot dead bodies?”

“If I say ‘no’ would it make you feel better?” Varric asked.

“A little bit, probably,” Hawke said.

“Then that’s my answer,” Varric said.

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline had to calm the guard outside of the small square in Lowtown before he could tell them what was happening. Javaris had been right, and the elven woman had created tons of the poison gas, which now spread through the square in a green haze. The guardsman had been trying to evacuate people, but those that survived the gas were driven mad. In their madness, they had been trying to kill one another.

“It’s absolute chaos, I wouldn’t go down there if I were you,” the guard said.

“Someone has to stop this,” Aveline said. “Where is the gas coming from?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it looked like there were barrels that were slowly leaking the stuff,” the guard said. “Just take care not to breathe too much of it in, Captain.”

Aveline nodded, and lifted the small scarf usually around her neck to cover her nose and mouth. She asked the crowd for any handkerchiefs or pieces of cloth that they could offer. Once she got three of them, she handed them off to the others. Every precaution would be necessary here.

What they couldn’t have accounted for was the great burning sensation it brought to their eyes. It was already a thick cloud of green toxins, but their eyes were tearing up and making sight even harder. Hawke had no idea how she would manage to aim with her vision impaired. She was lucky enough to nearly trip over a metal bar meant to seal the barrels of gas that leaked. With one closed, the fog was already clearing.

“We’ve got to find more of those bars,” Hawke said, suppressing a cough. Even through the cloth, the gas was getting to her already, drying her throat up. “Aveline, go search with Varric. Fen, we’ll—”

But Hawke stopped short when she heard the sound of footsteps. She could just barely see who approached in the haze, but saw enough to note that their faces were covered protectively. They’d been prepared for the gas.

“Nevermind!” she said. “Stay with me and kill these assholes!”

Hawke and Varric moved together, trying to find a bit of higher ground above the fog. They started up the stairs only to run into more of the men. Hawke thanked Sebastian for his suggestion of still carrying a small knife or dagger on her belt, “just in case.” She was still decent enough in close combat to pose a threat to the men that approached and, once they were dead, Varric and Hawke had a nice vantage point.

“Help them fight, but keep an eye out for anything shiny and metal. It might be the bars we’re looking for,” Hawke said, drawing her first arrow.

“Like that over there?” Varric said. Off in a corner, a woman sat, rocking and clutching a large metal bar.

“That would be one of them, yes,” Hawke said. She sunk an arrow into one of the bandits’ chests and took off for the woman. They had to move quickly.

Yet, as she approached, the woman started to swing the bar at her. She was shouting obscenities, and something about her daughter. The guard had been right about this stuff driving them mad, but Hawke kept her head. She dodged every swing until she could sidestep the woman that charged like Hawke had seen ogres do. When the woman fell, Hawke knocked her on the head, just hard enough so she’d slip into unconsciousness. No need to kill an innocent citizen of Kirkwall, especially when many people in Lowtown were Fereldan like Hawke.

Grabbing the bar, Hawke bolted to where she’d seen another of the barrels, sealing it as fast as she could. The bandits kept rushing in, but Aveline had also managed to seal a barrel. Hawke could only see one left, and now her vision was clearing with so much of the gas gone. She grinned.

With unmatched speed, Hawke fired off arrows as she made her way around, trying to find the final piece of metal they needed. Whoever had started this really meant business, to send in so many men to attack. Hawke was starting to grow frantic. She only had three arrows left, and the men just kept coming. The one sad truth of archers. Without arrows, they were nothing.

“Hawke!” Fenris called. Hawke lifted her head to see him throw something her way. She caught it, though it hurt her hand a bit as she grasped it. She hadn’t expected it to be something so hard, but she was glad that it was because it was just what she needed. The last metal bar.

Hawke hurried to the final barrel, swinging the bar at anyone who attacked her like the woman before had done. She just needed them out of her way long enough to get to the gas leak. Aveline was at her back, defending her from the attackers that swarmed. When men fell before her feet, she knew Varric was helping from his position on the stairs, as well.

Hawke slid the bar into place and turned with all her might, the mechanism slowly shutting the barrel closed. Fenris and Aveline tore through the last of the men. The square seemed to be safe again at last. Hawke could now think about how upset she was that the gas had been green. It felt like a betrayal.

“Serah Hawke.” An usual voice echoed through the area. Hawke looked up and found the source. Javaris had described the elf as crazy, yes, but he’d failed to mention the eyes. They were wild and piercing, rimmed by wrinkles and sleeplessness. The eyes alone spoke volumes about her sanity, or lack thereof.

“I should have expected you. My friends warned me you were some kind of Qunari lover. I’m glad you’re here, really. We have already done so much damage, but we could do even more with the death of someone so well known in Kirkwall. You have to know, you will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine,” the elven woman said.

“No, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what you’re trying to do,” Hawke said. “Kill me and a bunch of people then blame the Qunari and start a war. That sums it up, right?”

“Hah, they didn’t say that you were clever,” the elf said. “Doesn’t matter even if you do know our plan. You’re not making it out of here alive!”

The elven woman rushed at Hawke, but Aveline was at the ready, shielding Hawke from the woman’s daggers. Aveline pushed her backwards then stabbed through her stomach, effectively killing her. There were two other guards with the woman that tried to attack next, but with one swing of Fenris’ greatsword, they fell. Varric walked up shortly after they were done.

“Lovely, I was just thinking that Kirkwall needed more crazy. It really brings everything together,” Varric quipped.

“At least it’s done, for now,” Hawke said. “There’s an unconscious woman in that back alley. We should see if anything can be done about the poison.”

Aveline carried the woman out. Varric suggested taking her to Anders, but Hawke stiffened. She knew she had to deal with this eventually. She had just hoped that eventually wasn’t going to mean “today.” This woman was from Lowtown, which meant there was no way she could afford any healer that would do any more than tell her to chew some elfroot and hope the poison just went away.

“Fine. Darktown it is,” Hawke said. “Fenris, you can go, if you want.” Everyone knew it was more than just a suggestion, but Hawke didn’t like to tell him what to do outside of battle. Fenris had been ordered around long enough, he didn’t need Hawke doing more of the same.

Fenris’ eyes were narrowing, however. “Why have you been avoiding the mage?” he asked.

Hawke sputtered. “I...I’ve been busy and...well I can’t… I didn’t… Shit.” She’d never prepared an excuse, because she never thought anyone would notice enough to ask about it. Varric stepped in where Hawke was failing.

 

“You know how those two are. One minute they’re best friends and the next they’re in a fight again,” Varric said. “This just happened to be a very big fight. Things were said, feelings were hurt. But they’ll make up.” Varric looked up at Hawke with an encouraging smile. “They always do.”

“I assume the fight was his fault,” Fenris said. “He does enjoy bothering people whenever possible.”

“Well, kinda?” Hawke said. “Okay, yes, but… I’ll explain later I swear.”

“You don’t need to, if you’d rather not speak of it,” Fenris said.

“I want to,” Hawke said. “Just, don’t worry about it for now, okay?”

Fenris grimaced, but nodded. This was how they operated. Always delicately stepping around one another. Always asking for permission. At first it had been something Hawke was so conscious of, trying her hardest to respect his boundaries. Over time it became a habit, and Hawke hadn’t yet decided if it was a good or a bad one.

In any case, that meant Fenris was gone for the night, and they could focus on getting the woman to Darktown. They’d need to move quickly, if the _saar-qamek_ was as dangerous as the Arishok said it was. It hadn’t killed her instantly, so that was a plus. Small miracles were everything in times like this.

“What _is_ going on with Anders?” Aveline asked. “You two do fight a lot, but never this long. I didn’t want to interfere before, but it seems to really be upsetting you, Hawke. It’s not good to bottle these things up.”

“Trust me, this time it is,” Hawke said. She was second guessing her promise to tell Fenris, but she hated to keep things from him. There were things she sometimes kept from Varric, but that was just knowing he was such a gossip he’d never be able to keep the most juicy stories to himself. Keeping things from Fen usually meant it was something she was ashamed of.

“I just want to know if you’d like me to...help,” Aveline said. “I know he’s your friend, and you trust him, but I’m still not certain he’s deserving of all that you give him.”

“Aveline, seriously don’t,” Hawke said. “Please. This is different. It’s not about mages or Justice. It’s…complicated.”

“I just want you to know that I have your back, Hawke. Always,” Aveline said.

“I do know that,” Hawke said. “And thank you.”

Darktown was gross and stank as usual. Something about it being night not only emphasized the dark, but the smell that permeated the air around them. Varric had Bianca at the ready, in case there was any need for her. They were lucky enough that it seemed even the meanest gangs were on break for the time being, and they reached Anders’ clinic without issue.

Varric was the one to knock on the door. “Hey Blondie, we’ve got a problem out here!” he called.

A moment later Anders appeared at the door, looking like he’d just been woken up. He had an even sleepier kitten in his arms. Ser Pounce-a-Lot II had been comfortably resting on Anders’ face when there was suddenly all this noise and movement. The mage’s arms were still pretty cozy for a cat so small, but the disturbance was not appreciated.

“What’s the matter Var— Hawke,” Anders said.

“Huh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Hawke said. It didn’t do much to lighten the tension. A distraction would have to do. “This woman was poisoned. A Qunari gas called _sar-qumic_ or something. I can explain more later but she needs help, now.”

“Bring her in,” Anders said quickly. “Lay her down on that cot there. Gently, please.” Aveline rolled her eyes. “Hawke, can you hold Ser Pounce-a-Lot?”

Hawke nodded as the sleeping kitten was handed to her, meowing in protest. The cat couldn’t remember the smell of Hawke from that one night in the rain. She may as well have been a stranger. Pounce II started to stir because of all the ruckus, and wiggled until Hawke put him down.

“Sorry Ser Pounce,” Hawke whispered. The cat walked off and found a nice corner to nap in instead.

Hawke and the others did everything they were asked while Anders worked. That was, Varric and Aveline did a lot, while Hawke mostly just sat there. Anders was having a hard time looking at Hawke or even saying her name again. Hawke wouldn’t have minded, as he needed to keep his focus on the poisoned woman, but she felt helpless to just sit there while Varric fetched another antidote and Aveline prepared some hot water.

By the end, Anders shook his head. “I’ve done everything I can, but I still can’t tell for sure,” Anders said. “We’ll know by morning if she makes it. She had a nasty bump on her head, too.”

“Sorry,” Hawke said. “That was me. The poison drove her mad and she came at me with a metal bar.”

“Then you shouldn’t be sorry. You might have saved her life,” Anders said. He had looked at her for a moment, but only ducked his head back down.

“You two should probably be alone,” Varric said. “To talk.” He was already halfway to the door.

“I’ll go outside with Varric,” Aveline said. “Hawke, I’ll be right there if you need me.” With one last glare at Anders, she turned and marched out of the clinic.

“What did you tell her?” Anders asked.

“Nothing,” Hawke said.

“Really? Because usually she at least tries to hide how much she loathes me,” Anders said.

“She doesn’t loathe you. She just doesn’t...trust you.”

“Is that all? That makes me feel so much better. My only relief when she’s around is knowing that she isn’t leading a charge into Darktown to arrest me.”

Hawke’s brow furrowed. “She wouldn’t do that,” Hawke insisted. “What’s the matter with you?”

Anders noticed that his whole body had tensed up. He forced himself to relax. This was Hawke. He had already done enough damage with her. Anders had to suppress Justice as much as he could.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said. “I’m so sorry, Hawke.” He fell onto the cot, head between his knees as he dragged fingers through ragged, unkempt hair. It wasn’t even tied back like he would normally have it.

“Is this about Aveline, or…?” Hawke said. She couldn’t bring herself to actually say aloud what had happened. She hadn’t said it since she’d told Varric.

“Both,” Anders said. “But mostly…” He took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. It was all wrong.”

Hawke bit her lip. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said. “It was just…” _The wrong person._

“I know,” Anders said. “I still don’t understand what you see in him.”

“You’re more alike than you realize,” Hawke said. “Actually, there was a time there I considered it. You.”

“Don’t say that,” Anders groaned. “That only makes it worse.”

Hawke tucked her head down. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m no good with this. I try to think of the right things to say but all the wrong ones spill out instead,” Hawke said. “I don’t know how to make this better.”

“You can’t,” Anders said. Hawke’s head snapped back up, with fear in her eyes and a sad tremble on her lip. “I think this will just take time.”

Hawke exhaled, shoulders falling. “But, you’re willing to try? To get back to where we were?”

“Andraste’s tits, no,” Anders said, finally standing back up. “Back to pining after you while you’re completely oblivious? That sounds awful. But, maybe, we can start something entirely new.”

“As friends?” Hawke said.

“You made it abundantly clear that friends is the only thing we can be,” Anders said. “That’s not...it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You were a good friend to me, after all. I’d hate to lose that.”

“I feel the same way,” Hawke agreed. “So we’ll be friends but, different?”

“Yes,” Anders said. “That sums it up, I suppose.”

Hawke nodded, still processing what that meant. He was right, at least, that they shouldn’t go backwards. Whatever was ahead was just too much of a mystery for her liking. The promise of something was at least better than the fear of nothing. Hawke swallowed.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I need you again. Or, you can stop by the mansion. My mother would love it.” Hawke laughed a bit.

“I’ll see if I can tear myself away from work,” Anders said.

“And let me know how she does,” Hawke said, looking at the woman they’d brought from Lowtown. She didn’t say that she hoped the woman would make it. Anders already knew that.

“I will,” Anders promised.

Varric was pleased to hear that things were better. Hawke would at least stop avoiding Anders completely. It would be strange, as was expected, but they were trying. Aveline was just glad that Hawke wasn’t leaving the clinic in tears. If she had, Aveline might have decided to lecture Anders whether Hawke wanted her to or not. Besides being happy that Hawke was alright, Aveline knew she was too tired for a proper rant.

Aveline saw Hawke back to the Amell estate. They chatted lightly on the way, about mundane things that held no meaning. The talking helped them keep awake and alert.

“You know, I’m starting to feel like there’s something big on the horizon,” Hawke said, a sleepy smile on her lips.

“I feel it, too,” Aveline said. She wasn’t smiling. “Let’s just hope things with the Qunari don’t get worse.”

“Right,” Hawke said. She’d been thinking of other, more pleasant things on her horizon. The threat of Qunari was undeniable, but it wasn’t something she liked to contemplate. “Well, goodnight Aveline.”

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Aveline said.

They would see each other again the next day to let the Arishok know what had really happened. It wasn’t something either of them looked forward to, but duty and desire rarely fit hand in hand. At least, for the night, they could find their beds and sleep. Maybe their dreams would be kinder than their reality.


	17. Better or Worse

Isabela was finishing another sea shanty while the rest of the tavern goers either tried to sing along or drown out the sound with drinks. Hawke was just laughing as she and Varric danced around the table which Isabela stood on to serve as a stage. When Isabela was done, Merrill was the one helping her down. Hawke dizzily fell back into her seat next to Fenris, who had the slightest hints of the smile he couldn’t fight on his face.

“You next, love!” Isabela declared, pointing at Hawke.

“How drunk are you?” Hawke asked.

“Delightfully drunk!” Isabela said. “Now you must sing for me. Bethany told me you have a lovely voice.”

Hawke wasn’t shy about singing for people. Or at least, she didn’t think she was, until someone actually went and asked her to do it. Sebastian had heard her sing on the odd occassion, off in the woods as they practiced their archery together. Varric had caught her singing once or twice, though it was more of a light humming because the words were barely discernible. Hawke was also sure Aveline must have heard her sing on the cold nights in the hull of the boat that carried them from Ferelden. It was something to help the ache in her chest for missing her brother, and to pass the time as sleep eluded her.

The rest of them, however, were all perking up curiously at Isabela’s request. Which meant Hawke was scrunching down on herself, shying away from the attention. In a battle, commanding and being the center of attention was all well and good, but this was something personal. Singing was her escape when she knew no other way to cope. And her song was usually private.

“C’mon, Hawke,” Varric said, nudging her with his elbow. “Indulge us. You can’t be nearly as bad as Isabela.”

“Hey,” Isabela said, though she was still grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ve heard Hawke sing,” Aveline said. Even for this, she had this inflection of authority as she spoke, daring anyone to disagree. “And she has a lovely voice.”

“I don’t even know what to sing,” Hawke said.

“Oh boo, I know you can think of something,” Isabela said. “Now, up on the table with you!” Isabela raced around to Hawke, tickling her sides and forcing her to stand.

Hawke tried to get words out between manic laughter. “Dammit Iz I—! Alright, alright! I’ll do it!” Isabela relented in her torment and Hawke climbed up from the stool to the table. She stood and scanned the crowd, who after that scene were mostly turning their attention to her. That certainly didn’t help matters.

“If I do this, Iz, you’re buying the next pint,” Hawke insisted.

“You drive a hard bargain, Hawke, but I’m too curious now to say no to that one,” Isabela said.

Hawke looked to Varric, who gave a reassuring wink. Then she looked to Fenris who...Maker he just gazed at her with that same intense look he always had. Though Hawke noticed his brows were raised ever so slightly. He wanted to hear this as well.

“Yay, Hawke!” Merrill cheered.

Hawke ducked her head to hide a blush. She had to think of something good, something she knew well enough not to forget the words part way through. Something she wouldn’t mind having all of her friends hear. The gentle sound of plucked notes on a lute came to mind, in a slow, swaying rhythm. Hawke figured it would do.

_“If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky. You can hide underneath me and come out at night. When I turn jet-black and you show off your light, I live to let you shine. I live to let you shine…_

_If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea. A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity. Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze. I live to make you free. I live to make you free._

_But you can set sail to the west if you want to, and pass the horizon, 'til I can't even see you. Far from here where the beaches are wide. Just leave me your wake to remember you by…”_

Hawke realized she couldn’t recall the other verse of the song, but figured that was enough to sate everyone’s desires. When she looked around, everyone was staring in silence. As soon as they knew she was done, there was actual applause. _Drunken_ applause, mostly, given the audience, but they cheered nonetheless. Hawke caught Fenris’ eye again and saw something she hardly believed. The tips of his ears were just slightly red, with the start of a blush creeping in towards his cheeks as well.

“Well, I was a pirate once, so I can say this with certainty. You, Hawke, have to be some kind of siren,” Isabela said.

“If you keep that up I will never sing again,” Hawke said, making her descent from the table. Isabela was laughing as she offered her hands to hold Hawke stable.

“Next time I want to hear you sing something dirty, though,” Isabela said. “It would fulfill one of my fantasies.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. She was almost tempted to sing more, but the way her heart was racing from the attention made her return to her seat instead. Isabela got a pint from Corff and handed it to Hawke, as was promised.

“You have a beautiful voice, Hawke,” Fenris said. It was so sudden, and so quiet, even for him, that Hawke thought she’d imagined it at first. But then he spoke again, “I’d like to hear you sing again, sometime.”

“For you?” Hawke said with a smile. “Anything.”

✖✖✖✖✖

“They’re all lined up?” Hawke asked.

“Yes,” Fenris said.

“And you are out of the way?”

“Yes,” he said, a bit of impatience in his voice. “I know better than to stand in front of you when your bow is drawn.”

“Too bad those guys we fought yesterday didn’t realize that,” Hawke said. “On the count of three then?”

Hawke counted off for herself, and on three she whipped 180 degrees around to face a line of ugly vases that were probably far more expensive than they had any right being. She fired off arrows as fast as she could, striking one, two, three, four...and missing the fifth just by a hair.

“Damn,” she breathed. “I always end up leaning right on that last one. At least with four I’ve got a neat party trick.”

Hawke was amazed that there was anything in the mansion not yet smashed to bits, but then again the place was huge and Fenris hadn’t bothered wandering the whole of the house. He mostly just stayed in the main bedroom, save for when Hawke was around and they discovered that Danarius’ ugly vases made for good archery practice. The last stood, still taunting her, so she lifted her bow and loosed one more arrow to shatter it.

“That sound is just so satisfying,” Hawke said with a sigh.

“I agree. There are some empty wine bottles somewhere if you want to try again,” Fenris said.

“And take all the fun of property damage for myself?” Hawke said, a hand across her chest as if she had been scandalized by the thought. “Never. You want to try your hand at archery?”

“I’ll pass on embarrassing myself for tonight,” Fenris said.

He went to start pulling arrows from where two had stuck hard in the walls. There was impressive force behind Hawke’s shots, it was a wonder that anyone was fool enough to face her. Before, Fenris might have understood. Hawke’s habit of forgetting herself on the field of battle had served as a good distraction for how deadly a force she could be. Now that she always stood a safe distance away, there was nothing to hide the way she knew how to either kill a man quick, or cause him long-suffering pains.

“One day I will convince you to try,” Hawke said. “Mark my words.” She was gathering the other four arrows, that had hit the wall, but not stuck. She sadly noted that three of them had broken.

“I am better off with a blade,” Fenris insisted.

“It never hurts to pick up a new skill,” Hawke said. “Besides, I could see if I’m any good at teaching. Seb keeps saying that teaching me made him even better. Personally, I think he’s full of it, but if he’s telling the truth…”

“And so your ulterior motive is revealed,” Fenris said.

“Okay, you got me. It’s all been an elaborate scheme,” Hawke said. “I’m still determined to see you try.”

Fenris shook his head. “I hope you like living with disappointment, then.”

He wasn’t sure when this had happened. Whatever _this_ actually was. Hawke had come over before, to check in on him and say hello, but those visits were often brief and ended in her informing Fenris of some task that needed completing. More recently, however, Hawke and Fenris would meet and just...talk. Spend time together. Do ridiculous things like having Hawke see how many vases she could smash in a row as fast as she could. Fenris wasn’t sure when it changed, exactly.

Fenris looked at Hawke and saw an ally. That alone had been remarkable at first, but it was like his eyes were opening more and he could see other things in her. Putting names to what those things were was the difficult part. A confidant? A companion? A friend? And then her gold eyes lifted and her brown hair fell in her face and no word Fenris could think of seemed to fit just right anymore.

Hawke made him think he could trust in someone. Fenris still didn’t, not fully, but he wanted to trust in Hawke. She’d spent all this time with him and not abandoned him, despite the attitude that many found off-putting. Hawke didn’t seem to care. She would reach out to him anyway, and kept on trying despite just how thick his walls could seem. Despite just how thick they _were._

Hawke was humming again as she brushed aside pieces of broken clay with her boot. She’d mentioned numerous times how she didn’t want to come over next time and see Fenris’ feet all bloodied. He would grunt at her concern, until he remembered it wasn’t a falsehood meant to trick him. Hawke genuinely didn’t want to see Fenris hurt.

Though he questioned this fact more when she had Anders around, who seemed moments away from snapping at any second. At least Merrill, despite Fenris’ opinions of her, was not hostile. Naive and foolish, certainly, but he didn’t suspect she would attack him unless...until she got possessed by a demon. It was bound to happen, of this Fenris was certain.

He was wrenched away from his train of thought as he noticed—with some amusement—that Hawke’s humming had turned into quiet singing. Since the night she’d first stood in the Hanged Man and sang for everyone, she’d gradually grown less shy about singing in public. It was still usually soft and done without the desire of gaining attention, but Fenris had both grown used to the habit and was pleased to hear it.

“ _There's a little ditty they're singing in the city, especially when they've been on the gin or the beer. If you've got the patience, your own imaginations will tell you just exactly what you want to hear…_ ”

Hawke looked up and noticed that Fenris was watching her with a smirk on his face, and stopped the song abruptly. She brushed the hair from her face and cleared her throat. “Isabela told me she loves that one,” Hawke said, trying not to act like she’d just been caught, despite that being exactly how it felt.

“I can’t imagine why,” Fenris said. Even from just that small sample, he could make a guess.

“It only gets worse from there, but it’s really catchy,” Hawke said. “Can’t help but get it stuck in my head.”

When Hawke finally left for the evening, it was the silence Fenris noticed the most. There were a number of things he felt that he just couldn’t place, but this was one whose name he knew well. The world was far more lonely without Hawke in it. Fenris wanted her around, which felt like a dangerous thing.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke didn’t like to intrude on people, but with Isabela’s habit of simply appearing in places without anyone knowing she was going to, it made it hard to avoid doing. Sometimes, Hawke had to wonder if Isabela didn’t do it on purpose. Especially when she was caught at Fenris’ place. Isabela had still made her position very clear. Unless Hawke “staked her claim” or Fenris himself denied Isabela, she was free to flirt as much as she wanted.

“You don’t have to live here, you know. There are plenty other places in Kirkwall to stay that don’t involve squatting in Hightown. I don’t get why you insist on staying,” Isabela was saying. Hawke hovered near the door at the sound of her voice. Perhaps, she ought to go, and come back later.

“I like the view,” Fenris said simply.

Isabela stood, inspecting Fenris with hunger in her eye. “So do I,” she said. Hawke jumped a little when Isabela turned on her heel and started towards the door. Of course she noticed Hawke. Nothing got past Isabela.

The pirate winked at Hawke as she left, a reminder of their agreement. If it was meant to taunt her into moving forward, it was working. What Hawke didn’t know is that Isabela was really hoping for that three year mark to win the betting pool with Varric. She wanted her friend to be happy, but coin was an extra motivator.

Hawke crossed the room, giving a small wave as Fenris turned his head. She normally would start off with a joke, or at the very least a “Hi, how are you?” but Isabela’s presence left her flustered.

“Three years,” Fenris said. “There’s still no sign of Danarius. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s finally given up.”

“Normally that’s cause for celebration, isn’t it?” Hawke said.

“I suppose it would be, it’s just…” Fenris trailed off. As a man of few words, Hawke often wished she could follow him wherever his mind went during these lulls. “Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?”

“You start over,” Hawke said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know how,” Fenris admitted. “Whatever life I had before I was a slave disappeared when I received these markings. The first thing I remember is the agony they caused me, burning into my flesh.” He was staring at his hands and at his arms, studying the designs that covered his skin. By now, he could likely trace their placement without even looking. He stood. “I shouldn’t trouble you with this. My problems are not yours.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, leaning forward, “I could help, if you’d like. Or maybe just give you a few more problems?”

“Only a few?” Fenris said with a chuckle.

“The good kind, I swear,” Hawke said.

“Now that is tempting,” Fenris said. “You are a beautiful woman Hawke. Is there no one else who has your...attention?”

That caught Hawke off guard. A sneaking warmth crept up her face and touched her ears. “I’m sorry...what was that first bit again?” she said.

He laughed again, the deep sound causing a rumbling in her stomach. “I don’t need to repeat the obvious, I’m certain,” Fenris said. Hawke retained the firm belief that _yes,_ yes he did. “I’m an escaped slave, and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion. None of these things bother you?”

“Is there a reason they should?” Hawke asked.

“You are not most people, clearly,” Fenris said. “There is truly no one else?”

“Well…” Hawke said, the beginning of an admission escaping her lips before she could stop to think. The smile Fenris had before fell in an instant. Hawke shook her head. “Not someone _I’m_ interested in, no. Just someone that, well...it’s better now and he agreed we’re just friends.”

“He?” Fenris said. There was hurt in his voice, but Hawke couldn’t tell if it was also anger.

“Anders,” Hawke said. The way Fenris tensed was like an angry cat with its fur standing on end. “Really, it’s nothing though. I mean, when he kissed me I didn’t even—” Hawke covered her mouth with her hand before she could make it worse. Unfortunately, it was already really bad.

“ _Kissed_ you?” Fenris repeated.

“Yes,” Hawke said. She might as well finish digging this grave so she could lie in it proper. “It was months ago and he just sort of...did it. But it meant nothing to me. And everything is okay now, so it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s ‘fine,’ Hawke. You are telling me he did this without your permission?” Fenris asked.

“Well, yes, but—”

“And you gave no indication that you wanted him to do this?”

“No, but really, I’m okay with it. It was spontaneous and Anders has already apologized,” Hawke said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry,” Fenris said. “It is not your fault. He should have shown more respect for you, but this is exactly the sort of thing I’d expect from that mage.” The way he said “mage” was like a curse.

“Please don’t be angry with him,” Hawke said. She stood and took a step closer to Fenris. “I’ve already forgiven him. Anders didn’t mean any harm.”

Fenris was shaking. “Of course not,” he said sardonically. “He never does.”

Hawke lifted her hand, like she would reach out to him, but lowered it again. Just like that, she had screwed up a perfectly wonderful moment. Fenris had even been returning her feelings. Hawke just couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut. She told herself he wasn’t angry with her, but with Anders, but still Hawke felt like she’d done something wrong. Fenris wouldn’t have gotten upset had she said nothing.

“Do you...want me to go?” Hawke mumbled.

Fenris finally managed to put his body back at ease. “No,” he said, “but perhaps you should.”

Hawke nodded. She didn’t want to either, but Fenris needed a moment to cool down. As if she needed to give him more reasons to hate Anders. What she couldn’t figure out was whether Fenris was more upset that Anders had kissed her at all, or that he’d done so without making sure it was alright to, first. Hawke never thought that Fenris would be the jealous type, but she’d seen his protectiveness in action.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said again. “Not because what he did was my fault, but because I upset you by bringing it up.” With that, she left Fenris to his thoughts. Wherever his mind wandered off to, she wished she could know.

✖✖✖✖✖

Bringing Isabela was supposed to have helped ease the atmosphere between Fenris and Anders. Under current circumstances, Hawke doubted even the sky opening up to rain down sovereigns on them would cheer the mood. Plus, sovereigns would probably hurt if they actually fell on their heads, so maybe not the best idea either way.

Isabela had promised not to ask when Hawke begged her to come, but in classic Isabela fashion, as soon as she saw how tense things had become, she _had_ to know. “Things seemed pretty good when I left the other day. What went wrong?” she said.

“Me and my stupid mouth is what,” Hawke grumbled. Was there such a thing as Foot-in-Mouth Disorder? Hawke was certain she had it. She’d ask Anders to heal it, but he’d probably shake his head and say there was no cure, a tear in his eye. At least, that was what she was picturing.

“Said something really inappropriate and got Fenris inexplicably upset, huh?” Isabela asked. Hawke looked at her with a brow raised. “What? It’s happened to me at least twice with him. He gets...touchy.”

“I told him something I shouldn’t have,” Hawke said.

“Tell me,” Isabela insisted.

“No, I’ve already caused enough of a mess with this. I say we pretend it never happened and—”

“So something happened?”

“I didn’t… Yes, but Anders and I have already—”

“With Anders?!”

“Holy Maker, _shhhh!_ ” Hawke said, running to slap her hands over Isabela’s mouth. She turned her head towards Fenris and Anders, who just looked on in confusion. Hawke forced a laugh and kept moving, like it was some kind of joke. Of course, the flame of her cheeks couldn’t hide the embarrassment. “Okay, I really do suck at secrets.”

“That’s what I love about you,” Isabela said, humming happily. “Among other things, of course. But now you have to tell me, because I can’t stand intrigue so…intriguing.”

Hawke sighed. “Alright, fine, but you can’t tell Anders that you know. Or Fenris. In fact, pretty much just don’t repeat it. Ever.”

“I make no promises I can’t keep, but out of deep respect for you, I will make an actual attempt, instead of just saying that I will and then not doing that,” Isabela said. It was more than Hawke had hoped out of her.

“Anders kissed me,” Hawke mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Isabela said, a hand over her ear.

“I know you heard me,” Hawke said. “Anyway it slipped out when I was talking to Fen and then he got really upset. I’m not even entirely sure why.”

Isabela was smiling. “Sounds to me like he’s jealous he didn’t get to you first,” she said.

“It was more than that, I think. Something about the fact that Anders did it without asking really bothered him,” Hawke said.

“Sounds like he _really_ cares about you,” Isabela said.

“I don’t know how to make it better though,” Hawke said, running her hands down her face.

Isabela would have suggested something, but a well timed shriek drew their attention elsewhere. An elven mage, short even by elf standards, ran past them, screaming something about never having gone to Denerim. His pursuers seemed unconvinced. Hawke blinked in surprise, but had to act as the so-called “Denerim Avengers” started to turn their attack on her and her friends instead.

“Hey, we’re not looking to get involved or anything!” Hawke shouted, leaping backwards. The brutes did not intend to listen, so she drew out her bow even though she would have much rather avoided a fight.

Still, one of the bastards was pursuing her with blade in hand, swinging wildly. He continued his advance, but Hawke managed to continue dodging. She drew the knife she kept at her belt, for emergencies or those situations that might just call for cutting something. With a sidestep, she managed to stab quickly between his armored plates. The Avenger reeled backwards in pain, and her knife slid out with ease.

Fenris was on him a moment later, cleaving clean through the metal guarding the man’s back. The screech of tearing metal was an awful sound, causing Hawke to cringe as she nocked an arrow and pointed it at the man’s neck. When it struck, the Avenger gagged and fell. Fenris met Hawke’s eye for a moment, the two standing frozen.

“We could use a little help over here!” Isabela called.

Pulled back into the present, Hawke fired another arrow, busting through the leg of one of the men attacking Isabela. He cried in pain, the injury slowing his movement. She shot a third through the side of a man behind Isabela that she wasn’t quick enough to get away from. Fenris helped with the rest of them, swinging wildly.

Anders found Hawke’s side, firing shots of iced magic at the men. Hawke similarly continued her assault, but with more precision and purpose. She’d aim for the legs when the men were too fast, or go straight for the kill if she had them in her sights.

Isabela showed the skill with daggers and distraction tactics that Hawke could sometimes lack from her distractible mind. She would taunt an enemy, only for them to whirl around and be greeted by Fenris’ sword in their face. One time she actually slid right under an Avenger’s wide stance, cutting him where the sun didn’t shine before her other dagger found his back. Pain, insult, and death all in one go. Hawke could not have been prouder.

At the end of it, Anders went to heal Isabela, who had retained injuries while Hawke had struggled with the one very stubborn pursuer. For needing the help of Anders, Isabela had hidden the pain well while she fought. It certainly did no good to show weakness to an enemy, but that didn’t mean it was an easy thing to mask.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked.

Hawke had barely noticed him walking up to her. “I’m fine,” she said. “You’re…?”

“Fine,” he said.

Apparently, deep and intellectual thought was off that night’s menu. Hawke traced circles with the tip of her foot. Anders hustled over seconds later, asking the same question.

“I managed to avoid getting hit, so I’m okay,” Hawke said. She looked to Fenris, who had a hand over a spot on his arm. The smallest bit of red trickled down beneath his fingers. “You’re hurt,” she said, voice soft with concern.

“It is just a scratch,” Fenris said. His usual scowl deepened at the attention.

Hawke reached towards him, but never actually intended on touching him. “Anders could—”

“I don’t want his help,” Fenris said, smacking her hand away. Hawke jumped at the contact. His face was already shifting from anger to regret.

“Hey!” Anders shouted, placing himself between the two of them. Hawke wanted to pull at his arm, tell him not to intervene, but as she tried to speak he simply talked over her. “Hawke was only trying to help you. Not that you deserve it. Do you ever consider how anyone besides yourself might feel?”

“Do _you?_ ” Fenris challenged. Within just a few words from Anders, the fury returned, his posture tensing. He gripped the wound on his arm too tight and grimaced, but fought to keep from showing this reaction was out of pain.

“Considering I’m a healer, I’d say you should already know the answer to that,” Anders said. “I’m not like you. You never look beyond your own past. If you had, you might have to actually care about someone else.”

“Stop it,” Hawke said.

It was like Hawke wasn’t even there. Isabela stared in sheer bewilderment, uncertain if she should intervene or abscond. She knew which of those two she _wanted_ to do, but leaving Hawke alone to deal with this mess wasn’t exactly good friendship behavior. Though, Isabela hardly thought of herself as a good friend. She regretted not simply leaving sooner, before she could think of damned morals.

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Fenris said.

“What are you talking about?” Anders said.

Fenris stepped forward, the lyrium in his skin flaring bright blue. “Did you consider what she felt, when you—”

“Enough!” Hawke shouted. Her eyes were wide and her face was flushed. Everyone turned to her. “Just enough, both of you!” She hated that she was screaming, hated knowing that they were all watching as she exploded. Maker, was she tired of this. Hawke put her longbow on her back, and started walking. “I’m going home.”

No one followed. Hawke didn’t bother to look back at them as she winded through Hightown streets and alleyways. A would-be mugger approached, but at the look of murder in Hawke’s eyes, he thought better of it. At the estate, she nearly threw down her things when she passed the doorway.

“Messere? Is everything alright?” Bodahn asked. Hawke sat on the floor in front of the roaring fireplace while Hermes padded up to her, whining before landing his head in her lap. Hawke scratched behind his ears, but ended up burying her face in his fur instead. She felt a large but gentle hand on her back.

“Let me make you some tea, messere. It looks like you’ve had a long day,” Bodahn said. “Come on Sandal, let’s give her a bit of privacy. Your mother is upstairs in her room.”

Hawke lifted her face from Hermes’ coat, but didn’t face him. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry. “Is she asleep?”

“I believe so. But if you need me to wake her…”

“No, let her sleep,” Hawke said. “Thank you, Bodahn.”

“Of course, messere.”

Hermes howled, but kept it quiet. He wanted to see Hawke smile. She managed to pull the corners of her lips up for a moment, just enough to please her mabari. His tail wagged so hard his whole body shook. Now Hawke was just laughing, using the backs of her hands to push away tears.

“Good boy,” Hawke cooed. “Who wants a bedtime treat? I bet you do!” Hermes barked in response, but Hawke put a finger over her lips. He barked again, but now it was soft. She giggled and rubbed his head, hopping up.

“Let’s go into the kitchen and find you some rawhide to chew on,” Hawke said.

Hermes followed her. Bodahn startled when the two of them entered, nearly fumbling and spilling the jar of tea leaves he held. Hermes jumped to catch the snack Hawke threw for him before happily gnawing on his treat. She took her tea when it was ready, with just a splash of fresh cream. She also grabbed herself a bit of bread and cheese, realizing she was actually hungry.

Hawke put her mind off of the day. Actually, Sarah ignored the past _few_ days, opting instead to just pretend like none of it had ever happened. Though, she remembered the good parts, and decided she still wanted to remember. Just with minor alterations. Hawke pretended like it was a story that Varric was telling her, editing it so there was just the right amount of drama, never too much. Plus, she added a happy ending. Everyone made up and apologized.

That and the food now sitting in her stomach was enough to draw her into bed. Hermes curled up at her feet, snorting as he made himself comfortable. Hawke was cozied up in her robe and under the fine sheets. She’d never imagined when they ran around Ferelden that she might someday come home to this.

Hawke also never imagined meeting people who frustrated her as much as she loved them. Now she had a hard time imagining how she’d make things better. Why did it always seem to be her responsibility to fix it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I have to make things get sad just when they’re about to get happy? I think I might secretly hate joy.
> 
> Also, I totally cheated on the first song. It’s “Boats and Birds” by Gregory and the Hawk. (You can see why I had to use it.) I just...that song absolutely sounds like Hawke singing it to Fenris.
> 
> Second song is “Oom Pah Pah” from Oliver! because I remembered it at random and it just...fit the world really well? Plus I love Nancy and she deserved so much better.


	18. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up dudes! I finally actually got back to writing the other night because I realized this is gonna catch up with me quicker than I realize, and I'd hate to do any kind of hiatus. I'm still pretty far ahead, but never hurts to be safe~
> 
> In other news, my birthday is coming up on the 7th! Probably going to see The Shape of Water to celebrate. What better way is there?
> 
> Hope you guys are doing well and that you enjoy this chapter~

Fenris had been pacing around the main hall of his mansion for almost an hour. He’d slept, but only barely. The evidence of that laid just beneath his eyes. Even though he should have been exhausted by that point, he was restless. Fenris was angry—and he felt like he always was—but at least he could usually identify someone to point that anger towards. Mostly that meant hating Danarius. Not that his former master was anywhere near him to see anything done about it.

Now he had the opposite problem. There were plenty of people Fenris could lay blame on, all of them here in Kirkwall, but none of them had to do with the real reason he was riled up. He was furious with Anders, sure, but Fenris knew deep down it was not his business. Which made him mad at himself at getting involved. Then, he was mad at Hawke for giving him reason to care.

Except he wasn’t angry at Hawke, not if he calmed down long enough to be reasonable again. Fenris had started his pacing in an attempt to reach rationality, but it kept circling around to pure frustration. When his lyrium markings flared up, Fenris would curse in Tevene, forcing himself to relax until the light was gone from his skin.

All this, and he didn’t even know if Hawke would show up. He wouldn’t blame her if she decided to avoid him. Fenris wished he could avoid _himself_ when he was like this. Anger was necessary, anger had a fuel and a cause, but it was never something he liked. Nor did it seem like something that had a true end. There was always another reason to hate.

Just when things had been going well, too. Fenris had actually fooled himself into thinking he could just be happy with Hawke. He’d caught her watching him a few times, that dappling of pink on her cheeks and the soft consideration in her eyes. The first few times, Fenris thought nothing of it. The next few, he assumed she looked at everyone like that. Afterwards, he stopped denying what he already knew.

Fenris took a risk and actually thought of what it would be like to give in. To let it happen naturally, as these these things should. Then, he’d asked her about it. Fenris had no idea what to ask, exactly, but he tried to gauge what she was looking for in him.

That was when Hawke told him about Anders, and things spiraled away again. Now she was angry with him, or hurt because of him, and Fenris could do nothing but pace and wait. The door opened, and he froze.

Hawke poked her head in. She was timid as she met his gaze, stepping through the threshold and approaching. Hawke didn’t have her longbow today. Just a casual visit, then? She was still in her leather armor, perhaps more out of habit than function.

“Hi, Fen,” Hawke said. “I...um…” She was biting her lip, eyes trailing towards the floor.

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He closed a large amount of the gap she’d left between them, but remained a respectful distance from her. “I wanted to apologize.”

Her eyes flitted up with a start. “I… You don’t have to.”

“I believe I do,” Fenris said, though now he had to look away. “You told me that the matter was settled, but I couldn’t let go. I made it too...personal. For this, I am sorry. And for upsetting you.”

Waiting for Hawke to speak again was agonizing. Usually she was cheerful, constantly cracking awful jokes and laughing at them even if no one else did. Now she was contemplative and quiet. But she was there, in the mansion with Fenris, and that was more than he had dared to hope for.

“Thank you, Fenris,” Hawke said. “That means a lot to me. I have to admit, I was worried about you. Isabela thought you were just...” Hawke brushed some hair from her face, “...jealous. But it seemed like more than that. I won’t— You don’t have to tell me about it but, I just wanted to be sure you were…” She shook her head, the hair she’d just pushed back falling in front again. After clumsily making things tense last time they really had the chance to talk, now she wanted to say everything right. But there were some things Hawke had no words for.

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He drew a little closer, his heart beating hard against his chest. “Isabela...wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“Oh,” Hawke breathed. “I...oh.”

Fenris smiled. He’d managed to render Sarah Hawke utterly speechless. Hawke had been correct in her assumption, as well, but she was right in thinking Fenris didn’t want to talk about it. He’d had years to let those things consume his thoughts. Hawke was here, now. There was no reason to give that anymore power over him. Fenris had a chance to actually be happy.

“You know,” Hawke said, “you don’t have a reason to be jealous.”

“That is good to hear,” Fenris said.

Hawke didn’t stay much longer. The tension from the previous night was gone, but replaced with tension of another sort. Neither of them really knew what move to make after that. Fenris decided he needed to practice some compliments, things he could tell her to see her smile. If only he could see her then, just outside the door and practically clicking her heels and giggling with joy.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Pay up, Varric,” Isabela demanded. “Bethany might not be able to play any longer but I’m still in.”

“Now hold on Rivaini, I don’t believe we ever fully established the terms. He may _like_ her, but that’s only the first step, here. We said the bet was on who guessed when they would get together,” Varric said.

“Which you showed how little faith you have by putting money on six years,” Isabela said.

“Three isn’t much better. Bethany assumed it would be four,” Varric said.

“What are you two talking about back there?” Hawke asked.

Merrill was beside her with a similar look of confusion. They were heading towards Sundermount again, after years of Merrill living in Kirkwall. Hawke wasn’t thrilled about what Merrill was doing, if she had to be honest, but it wasn’t like they were summoning up a demon. All Merrill needed was a knife to activate what was likely a very dangerous and unpredictable elven artifact that had gotten one of her oldest friends killed.

No big deal.

Which was exactly why Hawke had along the two most neutral people she could think of. Anyone else might want to lecture Merrill or start an argument. Hawke didn’t care to see that. But there was an awful lot of private chatter going on between Isabela and Varric. After spending the other night telling them that Fenris returned her feelings (though not in so many words), Hawke was suspicious about those two being in cahoots.

“We’re discussing when your wedding is going to be!” Isabela said with a wave. “I think the spring sounds lovely, don’t you?”

“You’re awful, that’s what I think,” Hawke said. Cahoots, indeed.

“I know you love it,” Isabela said. Then, quieter to Varric, “As for the terms, I know I proposed that it be when she finally gets him in the sack, but at the rate they’re going, it may actually _be_ six years.”

“Then,” Varric said, pausing for a moment to think, “a relationship?”

“Ugh,” Isabela groaned. “So vague.”

Varric laughed. “When the two of them are ready to kiss and tell and are committed to staying together, then we declare a winner.”

“Okay, but I say we also have a separate pool for when they sleep together,” Isabela said.

“Sorry, but as Hawke’s closest friend, that’s where I draw the line,” Varric said, but knew that he would if he didn’t already have a lot of money riding on the hope that he lost this bet.

Sundermount was tall and creepy as always. Besides that, it was just a really hot day. The humid air didn’t help put Hawke at any ease. Her hair was getting so long, the sweat made it stick to her neck and face. Hawke searched her pockets, until she found a piece of long red ribbon. She drew her hair high up on her head and tied it into a ponytail. If Hawke didn’t cut her hair sometime soon, it would be long enough to match the exaggerations of Varric’s stories.

“So this knife you need,” Hawke said, “you really think the Keeper will just hand it over? I mean, I assume she knows it’s for your mirror, or will know once we tell her what you need.”

“Oh, she’ll know,” Merrill said. “It’s alright, though. I’ve got a plan. You don’t need to worry, Hawke.”

“Every time you say that it makes me worry _more_ , not less,” Hawke said.

“Then, uh, do worry?” Merrill tried. “Does that help?”

“Not so much. But your adorableness does,” Hawke said, linking arms with Merrill.

“Now you’re just being nice,” Merrill said, but couldn’t hide the happy little blush on her cheeks.

The Dalish glared as usual as they stepped into the camp. Three years and no less hostility. Hawke had a hard time telling if it was still just because she was a human, or if it was because she was with Merrill, walking arm in arm together. If it was the second thing, then Hawke would have been disappointed in the Dalish for being so rude to one of their own.

If it were the first, then it was just to be expected. Humans did get the better deal out of life, and the fault fell on them as to why the elves had a rough time of it. Hard to be upset about a totally valid reason for hatred, so long as Hawke reminded herself it was nothing personal.

Sarah started to space out until she heard the unfamiliar elven words coming from Merrill’s mouth. Hawke stared between her friend and the Keeper in confusion. “Help the poor human out with a translation, please?”

“Merrill has invoked _vir sulevanan,_ a reminder that our history belongs to all Dalish. Our most cherished relics can be claimed by everyone. Any Dalish can perform a service to the clan and gain ownership of such an item...for a time,” Keeper Marethari explained. She looked to Merrill then, an obvious sadness behind her eyes. “Even if you have chosen to live apart, _da’len,_ you are still one of the People. It is well within your rights to make such a request.”

“So this thing is a relic?” Hawke said.

“The Arulin'Holm was in our clan’s possession long before the Dales. It is as old as Arlathan itself,” the Keeper said.

“So...really, _really_ old, then?” Hawke said.

“Yes, child. Are you prepared to hear the task which I would give you?” the Keeper asked, looking over the whole group. Merrill and Hawke nodded together. “A Valterral has taken the lives of three of our hunters. It’s lair is in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out and slay it. No one else must fall to its anger. Do this for us and I will give you the Arulin’holm.”

“We accept,” Merrill said, before Hawke had the chance to ask what a Valterral even _was_.

“May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent, _da’len,_ ” the Keeper said, inclining her head slightly before walking away.

Hawke blinked slowly before turning to Merrill. “Okay so...what are we here to kill this time?”

Merrill was shaking her head. “I don’t understand. Valterral are ancient creatures, thought by most to be no more than myths, and they’re supposed to protect the elvhen. Something must have truly angered it for it to attack our hunters.”

“Then it’s up to us to make sure no one else gets hurt,” Hawke decided. She tugged at the ribbon holding her hair up to make sure it was secure, then gestured for the others to follow.

They found the cavern that Marethari had mentioned with little trouble. A few spiders lingered at the entrance, and Hawke was again thankful for the bow that kept her at a distance from the nasty beasts. In fact, Isabela was the only one up front and center at first, until Merrill noticed just how close Isabela was getting to their fangs.

Merrill ran forward and unleashed a new spell she’d been working on, pulling up vines from the ground that were covered in thorns. They whipped around her like tentacles, extensions of Merrill’s own limbs.

Some of the spiders were deterred, struck backwards by the fast movements of the vines, while a few remained bold. Merrill honed her focus on one of them and wrapped it up in the vines pulling at its legs. One of them popped off and the spider released a horrid screech.

Hawke sank arrows into the bulbous bodies of the creatures, then avoided the retaliation of acid spit that flew between herself and Varric. She wished for Aveline’s shield right then. Even Fenris’ giant blade would be lovely, to cleave through all of them at once. But then Hawke’s mind lingered on Fenris, picturing him leaning on his sword while wiping a bit of sweat off of his brow…

“Hawke!” Varric shouted, pulling her back into the moment.

She reacted with a jolt, kicking her leg out in front of her as soon as she saw those beady little eyes getting far too close for comfort. The spider stumbled back, but this time Hawke was the one screaming. She drew out her emergency knife and thrust the sharp end down into the creature’s head.

“Good to know that the klutz is still in there somewhere,” Varric joked. The rest of the spiders had already been taken care of.

“Har dee har, you’re hilarious,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes.

“Thanks for noticing,” Varric said. “So where did you go just now? Had to be something really interesting to distract you that much that quickly.”

Hawke grumbled something incoherent, and Varric grinned. She didn’t even have to tell him with that look on her face. If only the broody elf knew just how bad she had it.

Merrill mourned over each body they passed, saying a few quick words and taking their amulets. Their families would want to have them. Hawke thought of things that Carver had been carrying, things she might have brought with her, and thought of Ser Wesley’s shield that Aveline _had_ taken. Hawke offered to carry them for Merrill, to make certain that the amulets were safe.

Then, they heard footsteps, and Hawke had an arrow up and ready before it even registered that she was still holding her bow. An elf with a shock of orange hair and larger ears than most stared at her like a terrified deer, freezing just as stiff as one. Hawke breathed, lowering her weapon.

“Pol?” Merrill said, stepping forward. “ _Aneth ara!_ Are you hurt?”

“Merrill…” the elf exhaled, and Hawke noticed him trembling slightly. “Stay back! What do you want from me?”

“Pol, what’s wrong? I’m here to help,” Merrill said. She reached for her clansman, but he recoiled as soon as she tried to move closer.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted. Pol turned his face to Hawke, who was perplexed by his reaction. “Don’t you know what she is? You shouldn’t be near her. Creators...help me.” Then he turned and bolted away.

“Pol, wait!” Merrill cried. “We have to catch up to him, the Valterral…!”

“Right,” Hawke said. They hurried after the terrified elf, but Hawke slowed as they got closer. “Why did he react like that?”

“I don’t know! I’d never do anything to him, to any of my clan,” Merrill said. “For him to look at me like that...what must the Keeper be saying about me? He acted like I was a monster.”

“If anyone is afraid of you, kitten, they must be out of their minds,” Isabela said, keeping in step with Merrill. “The only way you could really hurt someone is by pouting at them. It gets me every time.”

Merrill tried for a smile, but only managed to get halfway there. Hawke pressed ahead, winding a corner and sighing with relief when she saw that Pol had stopped running. She was about to call out for him when a roar rang through her ears. A beast with skin like tree bark fell, it’s lithe body hovering over Pol. With one of its four, spindly legs, it knocked the elven boy backwards. His head hit the floor, fast and hard.

“Pol!” Merrill screamed, grabbing her staff. She shot a blast of fire at the creature, turning its attention on them.

Hawke realized that it must be the Valterral. What her arrows would be able to do to it, she didn’t know, but she did have a few other things up her sleeves. Or, more accurately, in her pockets.

Varric loaded Bianca with explosive bolts, singing the creature’s main body. It leaped into the air, landing over them. Three of the group rolled away, but Isabela remained, pulling her daggers on the Valterral to cut its legs. It stumbled and rounded on itself, trying to get to Isabela, but she managed to stay under it, where it was harder for the creature to reach her.

Hawke readied a bomb, courtesy of Tomwise. Her Undercity connections were still there for her, no matter how high she’d climbed up the social ladder. She lobbed it at the Valterral’s face, the pitch exploding over its eyes. It screamed in anguish and fury, moving awkwardly towards Hawke, but she was nocking an arrow to fire into its underbelly.

Isabela caught its back legs again, but the creature had another line of defense besides its too long limbs. It reeled its head back, then lowered it to vomit a poisonous liquid that perfumed the air with toxins. Isabela coughed violently, running from the gas before falling to her knees.

Merrill watched the scene in horror, but readied a blast of powerful spirit magic to throw at the Valterral. Fire spells were best against its wood-like body, but she was less skilled in those areas. She wished that Anders or Bethany had been able to come with them and show the creature what for.

The Valterral’s small hands had managed to tear away most of the sticky pitch over its eyes, and it jumped towards Hawke. Hawke screeched as it landed overhead, throwing her arms up defensively before it could push her back onto the cave wall. She hissed in pain as she fell.

No more. Merrill couldn’t let this creature hurt anyone else she cared about. She twirled her staff in the air, whispering a plea through the Veil for strength, and let about fourty little blasts of flame fly at the Valterral from every direction. It cried out, its skin charring in places and igniting in others.

Varric released an explosive bolt, striking right where one of its legs met its body. The result was that it separated the limb from the rest of the Valterral. That alone was almost enough for it to fall, but it still drew ragged breaths and pulled itself back up. Though its balance was more delicate, now.

Hawke was standing again as well, her next arrow dripping with venom. She lined up her shot, and pulled her fingers from her bowstring. It flew true and punched deep into the creature’s heart.

The Valterral shook and tripped over itself, falling fast to the ground. Hawke rolled out of the way to avoid getting crushed by its weight, and breathed a sigh of relief. Merrill stabbed the blade end of her staff into the Valterral’s neck, to be certain that it was dead.

Then, all attention was refocused on the elven boy that was lying on the ground on the other end of the cave hall. Merrill was the first one at his side, leaning over and praying to Mythal to find a pulse. Hawke stood a few paces away, watching her friend desperately try to do something for Pol. But the way his eyes were stuck open, the way his neck was twisted just a bit too far to one side, they knew there was nothing to be done.

Varric helped Isabela hobble over, offering a bit of elfroot for the toxins she’d inhaled. She went to Merrill’s side, rubbing her back in gentle circles while Merrill cried.

“Why did you run?” Merrill sobbed. “You shouldn’t have run!” Her voice broke as her forehead fell against Pol’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Merrill,” Hawke said. She watched as Isabela reached over to close Pol’s eyes.

“This isn’t your fault, kitten,” Isabela said. “It was stupid of him to go charging right into that beast’s lair like that.”

Merrill shook her head, rubbing her eyes violently. “He was more afraid of _me_ than he was of the Valterral. Pol wasn’t like us. He was city born, worldly. I thought it anyone would understand, he would. But this…” She took a shaking breath in, then exhaled smoothly. “Something is very, very wrong, Hawke. I want to see the Keeper.”

Hawke could do nothing but nod. Isabela helped Merrill to her feet. Other hunters would come by to collect their dead later on, now that the cavern was safe to traverse. The four of them walked back to the Dalish camp in silence, which was uncharacteristic for the lot of them. Every so often Merrill would release a soft whimper, still biting back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Marethari, not in a confrontation.

“Your Valterral is dead,” Hawke said, feeling a tight anger in her chest. She wasn’t sure who it was for or where to direct it, but the Keeper was the only thing she knew to push it onto. “As are many of your hunters. What I have to wonder is why you sent so many of your own people to their deaths? Why a boy like Pol was in there, unarmed and terrified of Merrill, of all people?”

The Keeper kept her calm, though Hawke could feel the rest of the camp tense at the heated words. Making an enemy of the Dalish wasn’t the best idea, but Hawke couldn’t let this one go without an explanation. Someone had to answer for this.

Merrill took the amulets from Hawke’s pocket and handed them to Marethari. “We found these,” she said.

“ _Ma serannas, da’len._ I’ll be certain to bring them to their families,” the Keeper said. Then she trained her gaze back on Hawke. “You must understand, Hawke, many of my clan fear what Merrill could bring back from the mirror she wants to fix. Did she tell you that it once carried the darkspawn corruption? That it killed one of our people and that another disappeared after they found it?”

“She explained that, yes,” Hawke said. There was an impatience in her tone, as well as agitation. As if Merrill would keep secrets like that from a friend. Even if she benefitted from keeping quiet, Merrill had been nothing but honest about her intentions from the start.

“Then you must understand the fear that could cause in those who have lost two beloved young hunters to that relic. We believe it is better forgotten,” the Keeper said.

“Where did they get that idea, exactly?” Merrill said. The shine in her eyes from the threat of tears was gone, now. In place of that was an angry twitch in her brow.

“I am their Keeper, _da’len._ It was my duty to warn them. It’s still not too late for you to return to us. Reconsider. There’s no reason for you to live alone,” Marethari said.

“Must we go over this again?” Merrill said, crossing her arms. “You’ll never accept what I’m doing.”

“The eluvian is a trap. It cost us Tamlen and Hera, as well as leading you to blood magic. Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?” Marethari pleaded.

“And who am I?” Merrill said, eyes darkening. There was a moment of stillness, the only thing moving being Hawke’s eyes as she looked over the two elven women. “We did as you asked, Keeper. Give us the Arulin'Holm.”

“Hawke,” the Keeper said, and Hawke jumped a little at hearing her name. “Because Merrill won’t listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please, don’t let her do this.” The emotion had fled her voice, leaving Hawke cold as she took the ancient knife.

Merrill glared after Marethari as the Keeper walked away from their group. Once she was gone, Merrill uncrossed her arms and began to relax.

“Thank the Creators,” she breathed. “I thought maybe she’d go back on her word.”

“The mirror was what started you using blood magic?” Hawke said, staring at the relic in her hand. She’d had her suspicions, of course, but no proof. This tool seemed like a good way of getting Merrill off the path of darker magic, at first, but now Hawke wasn’t so sure.

“The shard I first found was corrupted. I couldn’t cleanse it alone, but the Keeper refused to help. She said the eluvian belonged to a different time, that I should let it go. So I had to turn to a-a spirit, for help,” Merrill said.

“Blood magic _cleansed_ it?” Hawke said, quirking a brow.

“It’s magic, like any other. What matters isn’t the kind, but the intent. If I’d had piles of lyrium lying about, I could have used that, but I didn’t,” Merrill said, turning her eyes away. “I used what I had.”

“Just…” Hawke started, then swallowed. “Please be careful with this.” She handed Merrill the Arulin'Holm.

Merrill beamed. “Thank you. I knew _you_ would understand,” she said. “And I promise, I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Hawke was still wary, even with Merrill’s word. What the girl did or did not consider “unnecessary” was still in question, if she would willingly turn to demons and blood magic for help. But it would have to do for now.

“Let’s be away from here,” Merrill said after tucking the tool into her pack. “The others are giving me the evil eye.”

Hawke fell back with Varric on the way home this time. Isabela and Merrill seemed content enough to chat together as they walked, but Hawke wanted the company of someone more level-headed. He’d not exactly expressed any opinion on the matter while they were among the Dalish.

“Did I do the right thing?” Hawke wondered aloud. Varric caught her eye, and knew then that it was also partially directed at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Blood magic scares the tits off of me, but Daisy is so...Daisy. Seeing that kid run from her was pretty surreal. We know some scary people, but Daisy is hardly one that I’d put on that list,” Varric said. “Plus that Valterral thing was...pretty tough. You’re not too banged up from when it hit you, right?”

“Just a few big, gross bruises,” Hawke said, glancing at her now colorful arms.

“Good. Last thing I need is two glowing idiots glowering at me for not making sure they were invited along,” Varric grunted. “Like you’re my responsibility. If I’d been hit by the Valterral instead of you, I’d probably be a dwarf pancake right now.”

“The most handsome pancake in the world, at least,” Hawke said with a grin.

Varric chuckled. “Hey now, you shouldn’t be flirting with me so much now that you’ve got a suitor.”

Hawke’s cheeks colored. Thoughts of Fenris put her worries at ease for a moment, before she considered what he would have said about the day’s events. That she was a fool for trusting Merrill was one. That Merrill was a fool herself was two. Flirting would have been the last thing on his mind with the rest of the mess that surrounded them.

Hawke saw Merrill home, as it was after dark and a little extra protection could never hurt. Tired and sore, she decided that she didn’t have the energy to stop in the Hanged Man for even a single ale, and sluggishly dragged herself to Hightown. Guards noted her with respect as she passed, probably eyes and ears for Aveline to be sure Hawke wasn’t getting into too much trouble.

She already knew she would be getting an earful from Anders once she showed up with her arms all bruised the next morning. At least if she got them healed up before Fenris was able to see, it would be one less person to fuss over her. Bodahn was kind enough to cook up some comfort food that would make sleeping easier, even if she leaned on one of her wounds.

Hopefully, there were no more ancient elven creatures in her future. Hawke had gotten more than her fill of those.


	19. Thought of You

It was a breath of fresh air to be out and about and _not_ have a group of highwaymen or demons to worry about fighting. For over a week now, there had been no requests made of Hawke or her friends, nor had her friends made requests of her. She was ready to reach for her longbow when Varric stopped by one morning, only to listen to him laugh and insist that he just wanted to take her out shopping.

“No ulterior motives? None at all?” Hawke asked.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Varric said, “but it’s mostly innocent. I’ll tell you about it when we get there.”

“Get where?” Leandra said, stepping out of the other room. “Oh, Varric! How nice to see you. I hope you’re not taking my girl back to the Deep Roads.”

“I think we’ve sworn off of any excursions there for a long time,” Varric promised. “Actually, I was just going to take Hawke around the marketplace. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.”

Leandra lit up in an instant. “That sounds wonderful! I have been meaning to get some flowers to brighten up the place. Oh, and some new books for the library. Right now it’s so dreadfully bare, we probably look like we don’t even know what a book is. And Bodahn mentioned something about Sandal needing a pair of shoes cobbled? I’ll need to ask him for the specifics, just a moment please.”

Leandra was running off to find Bodahn before Hawke could get a single word in. Varric was just smiling and laughing at the energetic woman.

“And you tell me you take after your father more,” Varric tutted. “At least I know where you get that wild energy from.”

“Actually, I think my father rubbed off on her first, then I got it from the both of them,” Hawke said. She shook her head. “You didn’t need to invite her along like that.”

“Would you have preferred it if I didn’t?”

“No, and don’t you dare uninvite her now. She’ll know it’s because I said something,” Hawke insisted. “But if you have some kind of...secret mission or something that we’re going on, do you really want her along?”

“It’s not all that serious, Hawke,” Varric said, patting her arm. “Anyway, you might want to wear something other than that robe if you plan on going out.”

“Right. Clothes. I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Hawke said, slipping back up the stairs and disappearing into her room. She picked out something casual, rather than donning her leathers like she usually would. This sounded more like one of Varric’s little spying missions. Not anything that would require her to stick a few arrows into people. Plus the olive shirt she picked out looked fantastic on her tawny skin, as well as bringing out her eyes.

Hawke slid down the railing when she was ready, landing at the bottom in a triumphant pose. Leandra sighed, and Varric clapped. How her mother planned on keeping up would be interesting to see, given the usual antics of Hawke and her friends.

The marketplace was particularly busy, given the day and time. Varric seemed to have anticipated this, strolling along like there was nothing odd going on at all. Hawke studied him as he went, and it struck her that his clothes were less vibrant than he sometimes preferred. Avoiding notice? Hawke prayed this wasn’t a Merchant’s Guild thing.

A voice from the crowd gasped. “That can’t be where this chapter ends? There has to be more!”

“Shush, Holly! I’m not finished yet and I don’t want you spoiling the whole thing.”

“This is why I can’t read these books anymore. No _real_ man could ever live up to Donnen. He’s just…perfect.”

Hawke noticed the name. “Varric,” she said slowly, “this wouldn’t be about that guard serial you’ve been penning, would it?”

Varric put a finger over his lips, jerking his head to indicate the crowd. “I don’t want them to know I’m here,” he said. Under Hawke’s scrutinous gaze, he exhaled. “I just wanted to know what the reaction would be to the new chapter. I had a harder time with this one, and sometimes the little ego boost helps with inspiration. That’s all.”

“You are the last person in Kirkwall I would expect to need an ego boost,” Hawke said.

“Even the best of us need reminders of how great we are, sometimes,” Varric admitted with a shrug.

“Well, apparently I’ve been slacking off, then,” Hawke said, crossing her arms. “If I’ve not already told you how much I adore you.”

“Hawke, you’re going to make me blush.”

“Sarah,” Leandra called, pulling Hawke’s attention away. Varric raised a brow, not used to hearing her first name. “Come look at this!”

Hawke went to where her mother was standing. There was a table in the market covered in all sorts of trinkets, mostly jewelry. Leandra was holding up a necklace with a red gem and a rune carved onto the back. Hawke had sold off a few like it, though the rune wasn’t one she recognized.

“What does that enchantment do?” Hawke asked the vendor.

“Oh, that’s a very special item, serah. You have an excellent eye,” the man schmoozed. “That particular amulet is able to hone your focus. It’s a favorite of sharpshooters because they see an increased speed in the arrows they fire. If you have a sweetheart who likes his archery, it would make a fine gift.”

Leandra threw her head back with a laugh. “She doesn’t have a sweetheart, but she is an archer herself.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Hawke groaned. She bought the necklace quickly so she could leave without getting into further conversation, then grabbed her mother’s elbow to drag her along.

Leandra ruffled. “What? I just thought it was ridiculous that he assumed you had to know some _man_ to find a use for that thing.”

Hawke was red in the face and avoiding her mother’s eyes. That was an annoying assumption, sure, but that wasn’t the problem here. Hawke wanted to clock the guy, but again, _not the problem._

Varric joined them a moment later, while Leandra was still puzzling through her daughter’s shift in emotions. The crowd from the _Hard in Hightown_ fans had cleared out, so Hawke decided to look for the new chapter herself. She wasn’t much of a reader, but it was always good to support a friend. Leandra had mentioned getting some books for the library, too.

Hawke was about half-way through reading when Varric cleared his throat. “Well?” he said. “Thoughts?”

“It’s pretty good, though I admit Donnen isn’t really my type,” Hawke said with a grin.

“That’s a relief,” Varric said. At the funny look that Hawke gave him, he shook his head and added, “Nevermind.”

Hawke poured over the rest of the stack, finding a few books that just looked pretty enough to sit on a shelf, even if no one in the household would ever touch them. A chuckle caught in her throat, realizing that they were becoming _those people_ who were able to spend money frivolously like that. She decided to also defy _those people_ and buy books that sounded ridiculous and silly.

Among the pile, Hawke even managed to pluck out something that would make Isabela proud and scandalize Aveline. Too bad Isabela wasn’t much of a reader, otherwise she’d buy it to give to her. Instead, Hawke just added it to the stack for the library, and figured she could show it to Isabela next time the woman picked the locks of the estate.

Though the thought did bring her back into the vein of gifts. It wasn’t even close to Satinalia, but Hawke suddenly felt the urge to express her love for people through little trinkets and things. Nothing in the pile of books suited Isabela, but there was an adorable little ship in a bottle that a nearby vendor was selling. Hawke grinned at the thought of a tiny pirate at the wheel. It was too perfect.

Hawke also managed to spy a ring that made her think of something she’d seen in Varric’s room once, and picked that out for him. She tucked it away to give to him later, as thanks for entertaining her mother for so long while Sarah ran around the market.

Her mother was just about done with the books, the stack having grown to a significant height. Hawke was starting to wonder if they shouldn’t have brought Bodahn and Sandal along to help carry everything. At least Leandra laughed when she noticed the dirty book Hawke picked out for Isabela, rather than causing a fuss about it.

“Last chance to pick out something, Sarah,” Leandra said through the last of her giggles. “Though I think we have plenty already.”

Hawke scanned the titles one last time, but paused over the name of an author. “Shartan?” she wondered aloud. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“He was one of Andraste’s allies,” the vendor said. He’d mostly been ignoring them, but the question seemed to have caught his attention. “ _The Liberator_ , they called him. He lead the elves out of slavery and commanded them as part of an army. I don’t blame you for not knowing. The Chantry doesn’t like to mention him, so much.”

“But it’s a piece of Andrastian history,” Hawke said.

The vendor laughed. “As far as they’re concerned, Andrastian history consists of pretty dreams of the Maker and sweet songs of prayer.”

“Doesn’t that make it kind of dangerous to sell this?”

“Doesn’t it?”

Hawke felt unsettled by the vendor’s odd and toothy grin, but stared back at the book in her hands. His story made her think of Fenris. She brushed her fingers over the lettering on the cover, then gripped it tighter.

“Add this to our purchases. I’ll hold onto it personally,” Hawke said.

“We appreciate your business, serah,” the vendor said.

Hawke took a third of her mother’s book pile, after placing Shartan’s book carefully in her own bag, nestled with the ship in a bottle. It was rather difficult to balance the stack, but Hawke managed somehow. Unfortunately, Hawke’s friends were terrible people.

“Hawke!” Isabela shouted, bounding over to her and throwing herself onto Hawke’s back. Sarah responded with a shriek, and five books slid from the top of the pile.

“Isabela!” Hawke scolded. “Did you not see—?”

“Hmm? Oh, the books. Yes, well, now they’ll look...antique!” Isabela said.

“Some of them probably are,” Hawke said, grumbling. “Can you at least help me pick them up?”

“Rivaini! Good to see you out and about,” Varric said. He had to turn his head to the side, since the pile of books in his arms covered his vision from the front. Perhaps Hawke should have shown more restraint in her choices.

“Ooh, you two were out together and didn’t think to invite me?” Isabela said, a look of fake disappointment in her eyes.

“Sorry, Rivaini, Hawke was helping with a bit of reconnaissance,” Varric said.

“Sounds like something Anders should be looking at. He’d probably have a poultice to recommend,” Isabela said, then snorted at her own joke. “So what’s with all the books then?”

“Mother wanted to fill the library,” Hawke said. “What brings you to the market?”

“Do I need a reason?” Isabela said, playing coy.

“I suppose not,” Hawke said with a shrug.

“Oh, now that’s not how this is supposed to work. You’re supposed to be curious and beg me to tell you! Can’t you even play along?” Isabela said.

“Help me pick up those books and I’ll do whatever you want,” Hawke said. Then as Isabela started to open her mouth, surely to say something dirty, Hawke quickly added, “Within reason.”

Isabela did at least help out, though not without a couple more exaggerated facial expressions to express exaggerated displeasure. Though instead of placing them back on the stack in Hawke’s arms, Isabela decided to carry them herself, joining Hawke on the walk back home.

“I’m actually glad I ran into you,” Isabela said, “no pun intended.”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously, I mean it,” Isabela said. “I wanted to show you something, get your thoughts on it. When we were at the Dalish camp, well, you probably didn’t notice, but I did manage to run off for a bit. I was just going to see if their craftsman had something to sharpen a blade on, though I didn’t think he’d let me borrow it. I was right about that, by the way. Anyway, I was looking at his stuff while I tried to seduce him into giving me what I needed, when I spied...this!”

Isabela produced a tiny wood carving that resembled one of the halla that the Dalish brought with them. Hawke had never seen one in person, though she’d heard Merrill describe them and a few books had illustrations of them. Merrill lamented over the loss of their halla when they needed to travel across the Waking Sea. They were supposed to be very intelligent creatures, and stayed with Dalish clans because they wanted to, not because the Dalish controlled them.

“It’s cute,” Hawke said.

Isabela seemed to deflate a bit. “Cute _could_ work, I suppose,” she said.

“What? Is something wrong with cute?”

“You just don’t seem that enthusiastic about it. It’s not _really_ cute, it’s just...cute.”

“Isabela, what’s this about?”

“I wanted to give something to Merrill. She’s had a rough time of it lately, hasn’t she? She deserves something nice. I got this then because it seemed so perfect but now I’ve been looking at it for days and something about it seems off to me,” Isabela said. “It’s missing something, isn’t it?”

Hawke studied the tiny carving, the bit of white paint covering its body to be accurately colored chipping in places. “I’ve an idea. Wait until we get home, okay?”

Isabela followed, taking a couple more books off of Hawke’s stack in silent thanks. Leandra noticed the added company and tossed back a pleasant “hello,” though Hawke worried that she’d topple over and crush herself under the weight of the books. This was one of their more ridiculous ventures, yet.

Bodahn greeted everyone warmly at the door, and Sandal shouted, “Pirate!” at the sight of Isabela.

“That’s right, kid,” Isabela said, handing him what she was carrying. “Good memory, that one.”

Bodahn puffed with pride, helping Leandra with some of the books. “I always tell people, my boy is one of the brightest I’ve ever seen. You should let him enchant those daggers of yours.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal said.

“That’s right,” Bodahn said.

“Maybe once he’s done helping with the books,” Hawke said gently.

“Enchantment!”

Hawke went to the kitchen to set the kettle up to boil. It was only right to treat her guests to a cup of tea. Then she pulled the bit of red ribbon from her pocket, and sliced off a bit of one end with a knife. She tucked the longer piece back in its place, where she would always keep it, and brought the smaller ribbon back to Isabela.

The white halla was taken back out, and Hawke tied a sloppy bow around its neck. Isabela was beaming, and Varric chuckled.

“It’s perfect. Daisy’s gonna love it,” Varric said.

“While we’re on the subject of gifts…” Hawke said, producing the ring and the ship in a bottle. Isabela laughed and cooed over how cute the tiny ship was. Hawke told her about picturing a tiny Isabela aboard it.

“Ooh, yes! A little me flashing her tits to whatever ass stuck her in this bottle! Ha!” She fell back on her chair, cackling.

Varric, on the other hand, looked like he was starting to get a little emotional. “This is the Tethras signet ring,” he said in quiet awe. “Where did you…?”

“That ass who ran the jewelry stand had it. I thought the symbol looked familiar, but I didn’t realize it was so significant. Why would a random merchant have something like that?” Hawke asked.

“Bartrand was desperate for funds before you came along. Sold it to pay for a piece of the expedition. I can’t believe you found it! I…”

“Varric,” Isabela said, leaning forward again, “are you _crying?_ ”

“I just...got some dust in my eye I think. From all the books,” Varric said. “Thank you, Hawke. I mean it.”

“I’m just glad it’s back where it belongs,” Hawke said.

Sandal returned in a few moments, shaking with excitement with the promise of enchantments. Isabela went to watch him work, while Hawke heard the kettle squealing. Varric agreed to go with her and help with tea, smiling at the sound of Bodahn and Leandra fussing over the placement of the books in the other room.

Varric went to get enough cups for everyone, including Leandra and Bodahn. Hawke insisted that Sandal wouldn’t want his own cup, but he would share with his father. Varric was just happy to see that he could reach everything, given that Bodahn was usually the one preparing things for the Hawke family.

“So,” Varric said, eyeing Hawke as she selected a tea, “what did you pick out for Broody?”

Hawke stumbled. “Who said I got something for him?”

“You wouldn’t get something for me and forget him. I know you, Hawke. So what is it?”

“...I forgot Anders and Merrill,” Hawke realized.

“Isabela got something for Merrill and you added the ribbon. You’re avoiding my question.”

“And Aveline and Seb! I’m a terrible friend!”

“Hawke!”

“A book!”

They paused.

“I got Fenris a book,” Hawke said. She spooned out tea leaves into each of the cups.

“Like the kind Rivaini reads?” Varric asked as he went to grab the kettle.

“Maker, no. It’s that...Shartan, guy, who freed the elven slaves with Andraste,” Hawke said.

“So...light, cheery reading?”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Hawke said, dropping her head onto the table. “It just...reminded me of him. For obvious reasons.”

Varric laughed. “Right. Well, it might not be romantic, exactly, but I think he’ll like it.”

“You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” Varric said with a smirk. “But really. If the guy is as into you as Rivaini has told me, he’ll like anything you give him, because it’s from you. Sometimes the gift itself doesn’t matter. It’s the giver.”

“Varric,” Hawke breathed, “you are a true romantic. Have you ever considered writing something like that?”

“Eh, not sure it’s my thing,” Varric said with a shrug.

“I say you should try it.”

“For you, Hawke? Sure.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Anders groaned. The Deep Roads were supposed to be long forgotten and behind them, but Hawke had run into someone that needed help, _again_. So into the Deep Roads he went, _again._

“Who are we looking for, exactly?” Anders asked, dragging his feet.

“I can’t remember his name, but his sister said he was a Grey Warden. I figure you might have known him, so it’s good to have you along,” Hawke said.

“Not all Grey Wardens know each other, Hawke,” Anders grumped.

“This one was Fereldan,” Aveline clarified. “Posted in Amaranthine, where you said you were.”

“Oh goodie, that means he could well be one of those templar creeps,” Anders said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather go take a dip in the lava.”

“It is rather hot around here,” Hawke said, fanning herself. She already had her hair up, so it didn’t stick to her neck. She didn’t want to stick around any longer than they had to. The darkspawn and their taint was bad enough, but the heat was just torture.

They had to follow the same path they’d taken with Bartrand, since the Wardens were said to be in the area investigating some of the things they’d discovered on the expedition. Normally Hawke wouldn’t be concerned about a Grey Warden in the Deep Roads. Lost or not, that was where they were supposed to be. But if the Wardens had found that same place with the profane, they could well be in over their heads. Hawke certainly had been.

It was another good reason to have Anders along, even if things were still tense. Hawke could barely look at him, and she knew he’d have to have noticed that by now. Much as she wanted to return to the way things were… No, much as she wanted them to move past this—like Anders said, moving backwards did neither of them any good—it was hard to figure out where things stood with him anymore.

It wasn’t like she could joyously talk about Fen with him around. Or she could, but it would probably be unpleasant for the both of them. In searching for other, safer topics, Hawke was finding it impossible to remember what they used to talk about. Mage things? Warden things? Kirkwall things?

Probably all of the above, she decided, but it wasn’t as simple as that. It wasn’t like Hawke had a deep understanding of mages or Wardens to jump into a long discussion at the drop of a hat. And Kirkwall...it felt better not talking about Kirkwall. Much as the place was home, it wasn’t much better than the Deep Roads.

...though it _was_ better.

At least Varric was still finding it easy to be friendly with Anders. Hawke stayed a bit ahead, beside Aveline and Merrill, who made idle chatter of their own. Hawke was the only one who was silent for most of the way, which felt strange. Normally she loved the sound of her own voice too much to stop, but today there was nothing. Maybe she was losing her touch. Hawke blamed the Deep Roads.

When they heard fighting up ahead, Hawke silently thanked the Maker and ran forward with the others. She fell back when they spotted the group of darkspawn someone was struggling against. It was just a man with a bow and his mabari. Hawke guessed he was the Grey Warden they were looking for.

Hawke’s arrows pierced through the skulls of two hurlocks. She thanked all the practice she’d been doing in her spare time. Aveline shoved a particularly ugly genlock off of the mabari, who barked his thanks to her. Hawke felt a sudden pang of fear for the dog, thinking of her own mabari back home. But Hermes was safe and warm, likely being spoiled with pats by Leandra.

If Hawke needed to worry about anyone, it was Merrill, who was flinging vines and spirit magic desperately around her. “Aveline!” Hawke called for the guard captain. “Cover Merrill!”

Aveline nodded and went to help the small mage. Anders spread a wash of healing magic over the women in the frontlines. Hawke continued shooting, but moved further from the fight to stand next to him.

“Do you recognize the man over there?” she asked. One of her arrows struck a hurlock’s arm.

“Hard to tell from here,” Anders said, though his tone was grim.

“You do know him, don’t you?” Hawke said with a smirk.

“...I might,” was all Anders said at that.

Aveline cut down the last of the darkspawn in that group, an emissary that had been hexing her since the moment she stepped forward. She looked particularly satisfied to be rid of that one. Merrill put back her staff, then leaned over with her hands on her thighs, breathing heavily.

“Look at that,” Hawke said, stepping up to the stranger, “Warden armor! You must be the man we’re looking for.”

Anders regarded him carefully. “Nathaniel Howe. Been a while,” he said.

“Anders? What in Andraste’s name are you doing here, of all places?” Nathaniel asked. “No, you know what, I don’t want to know. Too many odd rumors about where you’ve gone. I’d rather not involve myself in that.”

“Probably a wise choice,” Varric said.

The mabari wandered closer to them, though he seemed nervous about getting too close. Nathaniel looked behind himself at the dog, and gave him a sweet smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “They have mages with them.”

And then Hawke watched the mabari turn into a tiny, shaky Dalish elf. She had to blink at least five times before she believed her eyes. The elf gripped his staff.

“That...was magic?” Hawke said. “I mean, of course it was, duh, but… Merrill have you ever—”

“Vir’era?” Merrill said. She was beaming. “You’re with the Grey Wardens now?”

The elf swallowed, nodding his head. Not much for speaking, it seemed. Hawke had to wonder if he could talk at all.

“Well, isn’t this just all a huge coincidence. Merrill knows one of you and Anders knows the other!” Hawke said, putting her hands on her hips. She seemed to be stating the obvious a lot, today. “Anyway, we were meant to be looking for you. Your sister, Delilah, was worried something had gone wrong. It’s good to see you're alright.”

“Delilah went looking for me?” Nathaniel said. He shook his head and groaned a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told her I’d be gone a while. But...she wasn’t entirely wrong. The two of us got separated from the rest of our expedition. If we hurry, we might be able to help the rest of them.”

“Wait just a second,” Anders said, marching forward. “What are the Grey Wardens doing here anyway? Why are you looking for the thaig that Hawke found?”

“Considering the things we found there, that is a very, very good question,” Varric said.

“Your group got further into the Deep Roads than most people thought possible. The First Warden himself ordered this investigation,” Nathaniel said.

“You should know that this place almost got me killed,” Hawke said. “Can’t have much of an investigation if there’s no one to bring back the information you gather.”

“This route was supposed to be clear. Our allies with the Architect told us as much,” Nathaniel said. “Unfortunately, it seems they were wrong.” He glanced behind him at one of the now-dead darkspawn.

“You’re still in contact with him?” Anders said.

“Queen Nyx requested that us Wardens keep an eye on him. For all that she risked in keeping him alive, she wants to be certain that those risks pay off,” Nathaniel said.

Vir’era inched forward. “We should hurry. The others…”

“We’ll help,” Hawke offered. “We might as well, after coming all this way.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said. “And Anders… It really is good to see you again.”

“Unbelievable. You’ve gone soft!” Anders said.

Nathaniel grunted in response, apparently regretting the moment of fondness.

Vir’era ran ahead, shifting back into the shape of a mabari. Hawke was still getting used to that, but had to admit it seemed a very useful skill. Especially since the mage got all the abilities of a dog in that form, tracking the scent of the rest of their group. Hawke just had to fight the urge to pet him. It would probably be weird if she tried that.

Sarah and Nathaniel followed close behind Vir’era, bows drawn to protect the mage should the need arise. They went further in, the path familiar to Hawke but not most of the others, and kept their breathing quiet in anticipation. When the first of the darkspawn appeared, Nathaniel was ready to fire.

Vir’era rounded back while Sarah and Varric joined in with the defensive fire. Killing blows were useful, but for now they just needed to hold the enemy back. Then Aveline charged.

She mowed over three hurlocks at once, sending them crashing down against the stone. One was crushed by the weight of Aveline’s shield, the second faced her blade, and the third felt the strike of her heel snapping its neck. She turned and faced another darkspawn, only to run it through with her sword.

Merrill ran up to join her, casting a protective armor around herself this time. She spied an ogre on the far end of the room, so extra precaution was necessary. She focused a bit of mana inward, then discharged it and sent the darkspawn around her reeling with confusion.

Anders and Vir’era managed to fall into a rhythm, once the latter had shifted back to his elven self. Vir’era would set up a glyph on the ground, freezing an enemy in place, then Anders would strike with his flames. One of the archers would add their arrows to the mix. With all of that together, they would have one more very dead darkspawn.

The ogre was a bit of a problem, however. It charged at Aveline and Merrill, both of whom were sent diving out of the way to avoid being crushed or knocked into the magma surrounding them. But that left them open to attacks from the other darkspawn.

Hawke managed to cover Merrill, but Aveline took a hit from one of the hurlocks. She’d been unable to raise her shield in time to stop it. Her armor protected her from anything fatal, but pressed against her skin as it had been, she knew it would leave a massive bruise. With a shout, she hacked into the monster’s side then shoved it backwards with her shield.

The ogre, meanwhile, had slammed into a wall, dizzying itself. The things were large, but their brains were not. Anders, seizing the opportunity, called for Vir’era to plant a glyph under the ogre’s right foot. Anders would handle the left.

He wasn’t much of a talent with glyphs, but ice was simple enough to wield when he wanted to. Focusing energy around the beast’s foot, Anders froze it solid and spread the ice against the floor to stick it in place. The ogre roared, trying to pull itself free, but with his other foot paralyzed, the massive creature simply ended up falling onto its back.

Hawke kept her fire focused around Aveline and Merrill, who had both recovered their stances at this point. Varric and Nathaniel, on the other hand, redirected their aim to assist in the efforts against the ogre. Varric loaded up an explosive bolt and sank it into the ogre’s side, cheering when it blew a hole in the beast.

Darkspawn are nothing if not resilient, however, and even that wound wasn’t enough to stop the monster. Nathaniel’s arrows were laced with a powerful poison, so a few of those managed to slow the ogre even more, but it still stood back on its feet and made an advance. The beast rushed forward, raising a massive hand in the air and sending it downwards to collide with Vir’era, who seemed to be paralyzed with fear.

“Vee!” Nathaniel shouted, sheer terror closing his throat. The all-too-familiar sound of dread drew Hawke’s attention just in time for the ogre’s hand to slap against the stone.

Her eyes widened. Her bow arm lowered. That didn’t just happen. It couldn’t have—

But Hawke’s eyes followed a small creature that darted between the ogre’s fingers and ran straight for Nathaniel. It was a mouse. And then it… _he_ was an elf again.

Hawke breathed a little easier. The near-loss sent her mind back to thoughts of Carver, but the sorrow fueled her rage. How dare this beast attempt to take another life. How dare any of these blasted darkspawn hurt people!

Hawke nocked a fresh arrow, the enchantment of her new amulet focusing her aim. This one was going to land right between the ogre’s eyes. With the bow drawn and her aim true, she screamed, “Hey ugly, _fuck you!_ ”

The only thing more satisfying than watching the arrow sink into the ogre’s skull was the _thud_ that followed when it fell. Aveline and Merrill managed to kill the rest of the hurlocks with minimal injury. The scrapes and bruises were easy enough for Anders to treat, so it wasn’t a concern either way.

But Nathaniel… Nathaniel had his arms around his fellow Warden. Hawke could see him tremble slightly. Judging by Anders’ expression, this kind of display wasn’t common for Nathaniel.

“You aren’t hurt?” Nathaniel asked. Vir’era shook his head. “I thought you… Next time, just run?” Vir’era nodded, then ducked his head down.

“Is that what it looks like when I blush?” Hawke asked Varric. Apparently louder than she’d intended, too, because she saw the two Wardens stiffen and stumble to part. Hawke really hoped she didn’t get quite as red as those two did.

They managed to save only a few of the others that had accompanied Nathaniel and Vir’era. Hawke was sympathetic to the loss. It wasn’t like their own expedition had gone without a few deaths, though she’d not had the time to become personally acquainted to the other men Bartrand hired. Judging by their faces, the dead that day were people that would be dearly missed by those present to see their departure.

Anders was at least able to help those who still drew breath, however shallow those breaths might have been. Vir’era, apparently a man of many talents, was also a healer and lent a hand where he was able. He even trusted Merrill to help, where she could, which spoke for the desperation of things. Hawke offered potions or poultices where she could, as well as bandages. Varric was best at keeping some of the men distracted with wild stories, taking their minds off of pain while Anders set their bones.

“Thank you,” came a small voice. Hawke looked over to see Vir’era, his eyes falling back away from her as soon as she turned towards him. With how meek he acted, it was difficult to tell if he was actually that small, or if the personality shrunk him beyond his true height.

“I… You’re welcome.” Brilliant conversationalist, that Hawke.

There was a long lull as they stood on the edge of things, the rest of the group finishing their joint camp set-up and deciding on sleeping shifts. Hawke rolled on the balls of her feet, her longbow hitting her when she swung herself down and in.

“You aren’t...what I expected,” Vir’era said.

“Pardon?” Hawke said, tilting her head.

“Oh, n-no it’s not… I didn’t mean that as a bad thing. _Ir abelas,_ ” he said quickly. “I just… Thank you.”

Hawke grinned. “You said that already. But you’re still welcome.” She paused, tapping her chin. “Say, you can’t use that trick of yours to become a dragon, can you?”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hermes the mabari loved Fenris. Really, really loved him. To the point where he spent most of the afternoon spread on his back whining for more belly rubs. Hawke wondered if Fenris’ hands were soft. More likely, they were calloused and rough from handling the massive greatsword he normally carried. It was getting to be ridiculous, because she wanted to know so badly that she was getting jealous of her dog.

Finally, Hermes had padded his way back to Hawke, resting his head in her lap and snorting contentedly before falling asleep there. She rubbed his fur while he snoozed, and Fenris poured a little more wine into her glass.

Both of them were seated on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was lit, but not roaring. Hawke suspected the abundance of ashes gathered at the bottom prevented the flames from growing much larger. The close-up view she was getting at the moment reminded her that Bodahn really needed to clean it soon.

“A fascinating breed,” he commented, eyeing the sleepy mabari. “Such intelligence and strength. Do you ever wonder what he thinks about?”

“Probably food, mostly. Then me, and when I’ll be home to take him out on a walk. With the odd thought about what to chase next,” Hawke said. “Sometimes he also schemes. I can see it in his eyes when he’s being too clever for his own good and has some mischievous idea in his head.” She scratched extra hard to emphasize, and Hermes kicked a leg in his sleep.

Fenris chuckled. Hawke could not get enough of that throaty laugh of his. It was such a pleasing sound. Plus, it meant he was happy, which was all Hawke really wanted for Fenris to be.

“Are you aware that this breed originated in Tevinter?” Fenris said. “The magisters bred them. It’s said that the mabari defected during the Imperium’s invasion of Ferelden. Merely a tale, but I rather like the idea they found the barbarians more...palatable than the mages.”

Hermes made a noise in his sleep, as if he was still listening and was pleased by the idea as well.

“Exactly so,” Fenris said, smirking at the pup. “Let’s hope your hound doesn’t take after his ancestors too strongly, hmm?”

“I think he’s a little too pampered for that,” Hawke said. “We’re probably safe.”

The conversation lulled for a long moment, and she decided it was time to stop being a big chicken and give him the book. Hawke had tried to do it a few times before. It wasn’t like she hadn’t made time to see Fenris in between Aveline’s bandit raids or random rescue missions in the Deep Roads. She’d just never found the right moment to bring it up. Varric criticized that harshly.

 _“Sometimes there_ is _no right moment,” Varric said. “You just have to be brave and do it.”_

Spontaneity was never Hawke’s forte, but it was at least worth a shot.

“I have something for you,” Hawke said quickly. She reached into her pack and rummaged through it, realizing she probably should have gotten the book out _before_ announcing this. Fenris was patient, waiting until she produced the gift and reached out to hand it to him.

“It’s...it’s a book,” Fenris said.

“Yes,” Hawke said. “It’s...by Shartan. The man who freed the slaves back in the time of Andraste. You know about him, right?”

“A little,” Fenris said. He seemed like he’d gotten...smaller, somehow.

Hawke gripped a bit of Hermes’ fur, trying to calm herself. But her palms were sweating and sudden, inescapable pessimism ran through her head. Hermes grunted, and she forced her hand to relax.

“Slaves are not permitted to read,” Fenris said, thumb running over the sides of the pages so they flapped against each other. “I’ve...never learned.”

 _Oh._ That hadn’t occurred to Hawke as a possibility. “It’s not too late to start,” she offered.

“Isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder,” Fenris said. He placed the book on the floor beside him. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I do appreciate the thought. I’ve always wanted to learn more of Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance.”

“Perhaps,” Hawke repeated. “Just...don’t mind if I’m a terrible teacher.”

“You’ll do fine, Hawke. You were willing to teach me archery, before,” Fenris reminded her.

“True. Books are far less deadly. Though papercuts are a known hazard, so be careful.”

“I will.”

Hawke could not stop smiling, and took a sip of wine in efforts to hide that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title may or may not have been subtly inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBk3ynRbtsw) and the animation for it. It’s still one of my favorite pieces of animation out there.
> 
> Vir’era is a character from my friend’s on-going work [The Way of the Story.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/263653) Go read it! But like, consider this an AU version of him.


	20. Good Friends

The Chantry was becoming slowly more familiar to Hawke. She liked to stop in to visit Sebastian, even on days when they hadn’t planned to go shooting together. The life of a brother seemed dull to her, and he did seem to brighten just slightly when she appeared with some new tale of her recent adventures. Hawke got in the habit of bringing a bit of coin along for a tithe. It made the Chantry sisters and mothers stop glaring at her, which was worth a few silver.

Today she’d even brought along a few snacks (for Seb) and a few potions (for the Chantry). She had a doozy of a story for him this time, which meant she’d probably take at least an hour to tell it, plus she’d be making sound effects. The extra donations would make it so the sisters didn’t completely hate Hawke when she mimicked one of Varric’s explosive bolts.

Yet, Seb was not in his usual place. Hawke poked her head around, feeling terribly visible, when one of the kinder, more patient sisters pointed her in his direction.

“He’s speaking with the Grand Cleric. It sounded very serious,” the sister said. “Do try not to be too disruptive, serah.”

“I’ll try,” Hawke said. The sister didn’t believe her, but accepted this as the best that she could get.

When Hawke got close, she heard Sebastian’s familiar accented voice echoing from the next room. “I thought it would end here,” he said. “Hawke destroyed Flint Company. None remain. Yet, now that I know who sent them, it’s harder to see their deaths as justice.”

“Death is never justice,” Elthina said.

She sounded very certain of that, but Hawke wasn’t certain that she could agree. There were at least a few people whom Hawke had killed that truly deserved it. The ones that would never change their ways or refused to stop bringing harm to others. Maybe it wasn’t the kindest fate, but it definitely seemed like a sort of justice.

“I…” Sebastian began, but apparently Hawke sucked at sneaking, because his blue eyes trailed off in her direction. “Hawke? We were just talking about you.”

“I overheard a bit,” Hawke admitted, ducking her head sheepishly.

“It’s alright. I was hoping to speak with you directly, anyway. I’ve learned who hired Flint Company,” Sebastian said. “The Harimanns, a noble family of Kirkwall. They were my parents’ allies. It’s hard to believe they betrayed us like this.”

“How could they do something so awful?” Hawke said.

“It’s likely the usual reasons,” Sebastian said with a scowl. “Money, power… It’s hard to say. Lady Harimann was jealous that my family was royalty while she was mere nobility.”

Hawke scoffed at that. There was nothing _mere_ about being noble. She’d now personally lived the life of a pauper and person with wealth, and knew firsthand the difference money and a good name made. There were some people who could just never be satisfied, Hawke supposed.

“I still can’t imagine that pushing her to outright murder,” Sebastian said.

“So, revenge? Or are we actually going to try and talk to this Lady Harimann?” Hawke asked.

Elthina crossed her arms, looking between the other two before settling her gaze on Sebastian. “If you treat the Harimanns like those mercenaries, you could start a war. Go carefully, Sebastian.”

“I know that, Mother. I plan to speak with Lady Harimann. I want to find out what drove her to this madness, before I take any further action. But as the last of my line, going alone would simply make me a target,” Sebastian said.

“Then I’m going with you,” Hawke decided, standing tall. “Probably about time you met the friends I’m always talking about, anyway. They’re handy in a pinch.”

Sebastian was smiling, already thankful. “You humble me yet again, Hawke.”

“If this allows Sebastian to make peace, it is worth doing,” Elthina agreed.

“Well, let’s get going then!” Hawke said. She gestured for Sebastian to follow and started walking back towards the front doors of the Chantry. “We’ll have to see who isn’t too busy to lend a hand.”

“Perhaps I could finally meet this Fenris that you’re so fond of? Or Varric? I feel like I practically know all of your friends already, from all of your stories,” Sebastian said cheerily.

Her heart did flutter a bit at the thought of seeing Fenris, as it usually did. “Just keep in mind; their quirks are not at all exaggerated. They are every bit as eccentric as they sound,” Hawke said. It was a fair warning, and given his enthusiasm, one he needed.

They made a quick visit to her house to pick up her bow, which she’d left behind out of courtesy for the Chantry sisters. She only ever brought it along if she knew she was going to practice shooting with Seb. Hawke also gave him a bit of the snack she’d brought while they went, some peanut brittle that Bodahn made. Apparently it was a favorite of Sandal’s. Since they were going to meet with the others, Hawke decided not to eat her share, since her friends would likely want some if they heard Seb talk about it.

Then, it was straight to Fenris’ place. His was closest, which was the excuse that Hawke was sticking to. (Technically Aveline was closer, but Hawke already knew she was busy with guard work.) Sebastian was the sort of person who understood without needing a reminder not to ask too much about Fenris’ past or the tattoos that lined his skin. For that, Hawke was grateful. The realization was, however, a bit eye opening to just how much she had to look after her friends.

They were a gift and a curse in her life.

Sebastian was even so polite that he questioned the nonchalant way Hawke swung open Fenris’ front door and invited herself inside. It nearly brought a tear to her eye that he was being so sweet.

“Don’t worry, I do it all the time. He never answers the front door, anyway,” Hawke said.

Before she even had a chance to call his name, Fenris appeared on the stairs. “Ah. Thought I heard you,” he said. He quirked a brow at Sebastian. “The Chantry prince?”

“Sebastian,” Hawke reminded him. “He wanted my help, so I figured it was a good chance for him to meet some people outside the Chantry doors.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Fenris. Hawke speaks highly of you,” Sebastian said.

Hawke tried not to grin too hard when she noticed the red on the tips of Fenris’ ears. She was certain she sported a similar blush, herself. It was nice to know they were on the same affectionate page.

“She does the same for you,” Fenris said, descending the staircase.

“Is that so?” Sebastian said.

“She is very complimentary of your archery skills. And your teaching shows,” Fenris said.

“Hey, now,” Hawke warned, “don’t make his head grow big. We’ve enough egomaniacs in this group as it is.”

“I’m just happy to know our hard work has paid off. It will be nice to truly see you in action, Hawke,” Sebastian said.

“Let’s see if we can get Varric and then it will really be an archer party!” Hawke said.

Which meant they were headed for the Hanged Man. Sebastian was a little horrified by the place but insisted that he could see the “charm.” Thankfully for him, Isabela was over at Merrill’s at the moment. According to Varric, she was in the Alienage a lot lately.

Any speculation on the subject was cut short when Sebastian made a note of Bianca, laying on the table all freshly cleaned, polished, oiled, and whatever other things Varric did to her that sounded like things they shouldn’t mention in public spaces. It was only made worse by him using the name of someone who Hawke assumed was a real living person.

Sebastian was highly complimentary, which made Varric glow with pride. He still didn't let Seb touch Bianca, but it was a good start to their relationship. Which Hawke hoped would turn out to be a friendship.

With Isabela and Merrill apparently busy with...whatever, Hawke figured that meant Anders might as well join. Which left her with the complication of explaining to Seb the details that she left out of most of her stories.

“So uh, you know how I said that Anders is a healer?” Hawke said.

“Yes. I've been hoping to meet him and thank him for all the help he's offered the refugees. Even the Chantry can only do so much with what resources we're afforded,” Sebastian said.

“And you know how I told you he just hides because he is severely introverted?” Hawke said.

Varric snorted.

“I will respect his space, if that is your concern,” Sebastian said, throwing a strange look to the dwarf.

“I kinda need you to promise you won't tell anyone about him, or where he is,” Hawke said, twiddling her thumbs.

“And why might that be?”

“Anders is...an apostate. He's so good at healing because he has magic.”

She looked to Seb to gauge his reaction, and relaxed when she saw the same easy smile he usually wore.

“I had suspected as much,” he said. “You don't need to worry. He is a friend of yours and has done great things for the refugees here. I see no reason to turn him in.”

Fenris scoffed. “That isn't all you ought to know.”

Hawke sighed. Could those two not give her one day of peace? “He also has a spirit in him.”

This time there was a long pause before Sebastian spoke. “As in a spirited personality?”

“No, more of a from-the-Fade kind of spirit.”

Sebastian swallowed and managed to maintain a sense of calm. “I will trust that you have judged correctly in believing that he would not cause someone harm.”

Hawke gestured to Fenris before he could raise another concern. He simply breathed deeply and remained silent. For Hawke’s sake.

“Okay, let’s go!” Hawke declared, and set about marching down to Darktown.

She decided to go inside the clinic and fetch Anders, rather than having everyone burst in at once and startle him. She vividly recalled her first time here, when he’d glowed blue and spoke with Justice’s voice with the intention of protecting the place. Sebastian probably wouldn’t respond to that too well.

Hawke gave a small wave, watching while Anders ran his hands over a man’s leg. Green light flared from his fingers and appeared to wrap around the injured limb, mending whatever had been wrong with it. Hawke couldn’t tell just from looking, other than noting a few bruises and scrapes.

Anders stepped back with a heavy breath, cutting off the flow of magic. “I know someone in the guard. I’ll let them know what you told me about that gang. Try to keep off the leg as much as you can, for now,” he said, helping the man stand.

He thanked Anders before hobbling away, still in a bit of pain. There were times where Anders simply didn’t have the resources or the mana to heal a wound all the way. Right now, by the way sweat slid off his brow, Hawke could guess he’d exhausted himself. It was still early in the afternoon, too. Anders was overworking his magic.

“You look like _you’re_ the one who needs the healer right about now,” Hawke said. She tried to grin in a way that passed that off as a joke, but it was too easy to tell that she was worried.

“I would’ve been fine, except I had to set up traps and runes that would draw away some very curious templars this morning,” Anders said, falling back to sit on a wooden box.

“What?” Hawke gasped. “What were they doing in Darktown? Did they find you? Maker, Anders, please tell me you didn’t have to…”

“They still draw breath,” he said through grit teeth. “Dead templars around the clinic would make the area more suspect than it already is. I just did enough to confuse them about the location and send them after a group of Carta that I know has been around here lately.”

“Have they ever gotten this close before?” Hawke asked.

“No. This is… They’re becoming more aggressive, Hawke. I didn’t even think that was possible, given how bad they were already. But someone must have tipped them off.”

“Maybe you should move,” she suggested, though she knew that was far easier said than done.

Even if she could fund it, they’d have to relocate all his supplies as well as making sure that the place was in a safe enough location for him and his patients. In this far corner of Darktown, Anders had managed to keep people clear out of respect for the work he did. But that alone wouldn’t be enough. It was just a good location, close enough to methods of escape, but far enough from notice.

“And go where?” Anders said. “I don’t have some Hightown estate to run to.”

“No but...oh!” Hawke clapped her hands together. “There is an entrance to the Amell estate through the cellars! Right next to the clinic! You could use that in emergencies. Even store stuff there, I don’t care. You hide out with us until the danger’s passed, and everyone is happy.”

“I don’t know, Hawke. That sounds like it would put you in a lot of danger,” Anders said.

“Which is different from my day-to-day, how?”

“And your mother?”

Hawke grimaced. Okay, he kind of had her there. “Still, for emergencies, I think it’s a good idea. Until we can think of something else, just keep that in mind.”

“I will. Thank you,” Anders said. After a beat, something crossed his mind. “So was there a reason you dropped by?”

“Huh? Oh! Right! Sebastian,” Hawke said. “He found the people who hired those mercenaries to kill his family and we’re going to interrogate them and also possibly kick some ass, if necessary. I was going to invite you to come along, but given the day you’ve had—”

Anders was already up and grabbing his staff. “I’ll be fine. If you need me, just say the word.”

His loyalty was admirable, but worried Hawke. “Don’t push yourself. Not for me.”

“I’m not,” Anders said. It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but it didn’t sound like he was going to listen to her if she disagreed.

“Alright, well… Come officially meet him, then!” Hawke said.

Sebastian was polite, giving the same sunny smile he offered to everyone. Hawke breathed with relief. Clearly she’d spent too long trying to keep peace between Anders and Fenris. She’d gotten used to the drama.

“I really admire what you’ve given to the poor of Kirkwall. It’s greatly needed here, and in many other parts of the Free Marches,” Sebastian said.

“Oh,” Anders breathed, actually blushing a bit. Compliments were not expected. “Well, if only the rest of the Chantry could see the good that a mage can do.”

“I can’t say I disagree. The lack of healers in the world is felt by those less fortunate,” Sebastian said with a nod.

Hawke was grinning to see how well this was going. Even Anders’ moment of attempting to instigate some kind of fight had slid right past Seb’s notice. She could almost see Andraste next to the prince, with a look of approval and two thumbs up.

Fenris, on the other hand, was less than pleased with the mage’s presence. Other than general animosity between the two, there was still a bit of bad blood from the incident with Hawke. By this time he’d at least been able to cool down significantly, so he held his tongue. Hawke’s presence probably helped, at least a little.

The group rounded back up to Hightown, where the Harimann estate stood waiting for them. Hawke stood with Sebastian ahead of the rest of them, offering an encouraging look to her teacher when it looked like he needed one. He tried to knock and even called, waiting for a doorman or servant to answer. When no one came, Sebastian sighed and tried to simply open the door himself.

It was unlocked. He shared a glance with Hawke, hesitant before moving forward into the dark foyer. Immediately, an unnatural cold struck him. Hawke was filled with a similar feeling, shivering as they proceeded past the entryway.

“Normally, in stories, when it’s dark and cold and the door is unlocked, it’s a bad idea to go into the house,” Varric said. “The protagonists tend to wind up dead with that kind of a beginning.”

“Do those characters often have weapons?” Hawke asked.

“Not usually,” Varric said.

“Well, I’d say we stand a far better chance, then. We’ll be alright.”

“Saying that is going to give us bad luck,” Varric grumbled. “Try ‘nothing could possibly go wrong,’ next.”

“There’s not even a single guard,” Sebastian said, deaf to the comments around him. “This is not the Lady Harimann I remember.”

They continued through the house, searching for some sign of life. Sebastian remembered the place well, having visited it many times before. He lead Hawke and the others through room after room, until they heard a bit of commotion in the kitchen. Sebastian hurried towards the door leading to it, not even pausing to make sure that the rest of them would follow.

“More, you lazy son of a bitch! What’s taking so long?” a woman shouted. She pounded her fists against a giant cask of wine. “Why does no one in this house care what I want?”

“Flora?” Sebastian said, coming closer.

The woman didn’t even look at him, stumbling and continuing to talk to herself, speech heavily slurred. “More wine! Or I swear, I will drown you in the dregs.”

“That sounds familiar,” Varric quipped. “I don’t envy anyone in this household tomorrow morning.”

“She doesn’t even see us,” Sebastian said, distraught. “This is no normal wine.”

“Something is very wrong here,” Anders agreed.

That much was obvious to everyone. They moved further into the house only to run into another person who didn’t even notice their presence in the room. He was insane, trying to cover one of his servant girls in molten gold. One of the other servants held her at knifepoint, but Sebastian slugged him and the girl managed to run free.

“Nice arm,” Varric cheered, clearly impressed.

Sebastian simply sighed, while Anders doused the flame to keep the man from hurting himself.

“We must end this madness,” Sebastian said, “before things get worse.”

They moved upstairs, and Hawke froze at the sound of moaning echoing out of an open doorway.

“Maybe we don’t need to go in that room,” she said, backing away.

“Let me just check for Lady Harimann,” Sebastian said, already ahead of her.

Varric was the only one to follow him, this time. The other three stood outside, red-faced at the sounds that only continued after Seb and Varric had gone in. There was mention of a feather being used, and Hawke did not want to know where. Or _how._

Sebastian emerged moments later, apologizing to Varric. “I beg your pardon, Varric. I did not mean to expose you to such things.”

“Don’t worry about it Choir Boy,” Varric said through grit teeth, “you weren’t the one _exposing_ anything.”

“I’ve known Ruxton Harimann my whole life. He’s a complete prude!”

“Things change?” Hawke said with a shrug.

“Not like that they don’t,” Varric said. “I should’ve stayed out here with you.”

With nowhere else in the house to explore, Sebastian lead them to the cellars. He didn’t think anything could be down there, but with Lady Harimann showing up nowhere else, they had to check. Just past the stairs, they were met with the three members of the Harimann family they’d already run into.

Thankfully, it seemed that Ruxton managed to find pants before somehow beating the group there. Varric was so happy to see him covered up, that he decided he didn’t care to work out the illogic of his presence.

“Turn back,” Flora said. “There is nothing here for you.”

“Oh, she can see us now?” Hawke said. “Where’s your mother?”

“You won’t find her. We won’t allow you to enter.”

After saying this, Flora fell to the floor, her eyes rolling back into her skull. The two men behind her did the same before shadow-like forms rose from their bodies. The shadows solidified into demons. Hawke was very glad for the company she’d brought along now.

She fell back, letting Fenris charge in after the desire demon while the archers took care of the Shades. Anders focused his energy on supporting them, though fired off ice attacks when one Shade got too close for comfort.

Thankfully, these demons managed to fall quickly. Sebastian ran to check that the Harimanns were still breathing. Hawke saw him exhale heavily, and worried for a moment that it meant they were dead. But then he stood, lips just slightly upturned. Alive.

“This is what I feared,” Anders said. “Their behavior earlier… That demons are involved makes sense. Not that it is any kind of relief.”

“But how? Lady Harimann couldn’t possibly be a mage,” Hawke said.

Anders scowled. “Mages aren’t the only people who can deal with demons.”

Fenris scoffed.

“Maybe not, but how else would they have summoned them?” Hawke said. She shook her head before this could turn into a real argument. “I’m not saying anything is certain. We should...get the whole story.”

Damned Kirkwall. Damned demons. Was there no end to it all?

Apparently not, as they continued through the cellar until they found the entrance to ancient catacombs. They appeared to be Tevinter in origin, which matched the history of the city. How they had been so neatly hidden away, however, lacked explanation, especially considering that they were right beneath some of Hightowns largest estates. The discovery was only made worse when the group learned that the ruins were full of demons.

There was no end to them! Or there didn’t seem to be, at least. For every one that Fenris cleaved through with his blade, three rose in its place. The archers could take care of those three, but then a horde of undead would rise next. They barely managed to progress through the catacombs, stopping every few feet to fight more monstrosities.

“Nice shot,” Sebastian said, placing a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. They had a moment of respite, and took the chance to breathe.

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” she said with a half-smile.

“I want to thank you again for assisting me with this, Hawke. Clearly this is not something I could have done alone,” Sebastian said.

“What are friends for?” Hawke said.

That took him by surprise. “Is that what we are?”

“Uh, I guess? I mean, I consider you my friend, Seb. After all the training we’ve done together and the regular visits… I mean, I’m certainly not going to the Chantry to pray.”

Sebastian laughed. “No, that you are not. Still, it’s...nice to hear. Kirkwall was far lonelier before I met you. I appreciate your company. And your friendship.”

Hawke simply grinned in response. They still had work to do, yet, and now she felt she had the energy to do it. She lead them forward, going deeper into the catacombs until they began to hear voices. The words were hushed, but urgent.

“Starkhaven will not submit. I put that idiot Goran Vael into the prince’s seat, but the other families won’t heed him,” a woman said. By Hawke’s guess, they’d found Lady Harimann. Before her was a desire demon. “I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold. But I need more power.”

“I’ve given you much,” the demon said. “Your desires run deep. You’ve already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?”

“Well this is...actually about what I was beginning to expect,” Hawke said.

Lady Harimann startled, getting to her feet in a hurry. “Who is this? Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get here?” Her eyes scanned over the group, then she paled at the one familiar face. “Sebastian...?”

“You were my mother’s friend,” Sebastian said, his hands clenching to fists. “How could you murder her?”

“Such an ugly word,” the demon purred. “I prefer the phrasing, ‘removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams.’ A tad more poetic.”

“This was your idea!” Sebastian said, pointing an accusatory finger at the demon.

“I could create such desires, if I wished, but it’s far easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise.”

Hawke blinked. “Who me? Hardly.” Her eyes ventured to Sebastian, who was tenser now than even before. “Especially not if it meant selling out the ones I love.”

“But would they return the same loyalty you offer?” the demon taunted. “Everyone has a price. Everyone wants something.” Her black eyes traced over the rest of them, from Varric to Fenris, landing last on Anders. She bared her teeth in a vicious smile, almost ravenous. “And some want _everything._ ”

“Do not listen to her!” Sebastian said, putting a defensive arm in front of Hawke.

“Oh, such a pious soul,” the demon said, returning her attention to the prince, “masking so much ambition. Are you so different from my lady? You yearn for the same lands, the same power.”

“I am the rightful heir,” Sebastian argued, failing to heed his own advice. “She is a usurper and murderer.”

“You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions, but they couldn’t stop you from wanting them.”

“Wanting is not the same as taking,” Hawke said. “Right?” When she looked to Sebastian, he could not meet her eye. “But...you do want it, don’t you?”

Sebastian finally rose his head. “Regaining my birthright is hardly the same as stealing it from another.”

“You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule. Yet, now, that seat glitters before you,” the demon said. “You’ve _always_ wanted it. You needn’t deny it any longer. All you have to do…” she turned her head towards Lady Harimann, “...is kill anyone in your way.”

Lady Harimann panicked. She picked up a mage’s staff—apparently able to use it—and fired offensive spells at the group. They dispersed in an effort to dodge her attacks.

“Silence temptress!” Sebastian shouted, grabbing hold of his bow. “You’re the one who lead our allies astray. _You’re_ the only one I must kill!”

But it didn’t appear that Lady Harimann was giving them that choice. Hawke stepped back while Shades rose from the ground and the fight began. She aimed her bow for the demons first, feeling no remorse in felling them. Over time, however, Lady Harimann’s spells were becoming difficult to evade.

 _Sorry, Seb,_ she thought, and wound herself around to point an arrow at the noblewoman’s chest. The first arrow rebounded off a barrier, but Anders had his magic ready to take away the power from it. The second time Hawke shot, her arrow sank deep into Lady Harimann’s heart.

Sebastian was too focused on fighting the demon to notice, yet. Hawke felt remorse for his sake, but knew he’d understand. It wasn’t as if she could allow Lady Harimann to kill them.

Fenris rushed forward after the desire demon. Unlike Hawke, Sebastian was less used to fighting with people, and appeared a bit hesitant to shoot with Fenris in the way. But Fenris knew what he was doing, drawing the demon’s attention so she would turn her back on the others in an attempt to attack only him. Sebastian now had a clear and easy shot to kill the demon.

She fell, strained sounds of choking escaping her throat now that an arrow had pierced it. Another landed between her shoulder blades, and she collapsed fully to the ground. Her form disappeared, dragging her essence back into the Fade. The demon would trouble them no more.

“Sorry,” Hawke said immediately, knowing that Sebastian would soon notice Lady Harimann’s body. But he didn’t appear surprised. Perhaps it hadn’t escaped his attention, after all.

“It’s alright, Hawke. You did what you had to,” Sebastian said. He shook his head. “She had already lost herself. Let us return to the Chantry. I’d like to pray for Lady Harimann’s soul.”

They followed him as they made their way back towards the estate, following the same path so they wouldn’t get lost in the underground. It relieved them all to see that no more demons rose to impede their progress. Hawke and Sebastian’s arms were a bit sore from tugging their bowstrings back.

Anders was still tired from earlier. He was only glad to note he hadn’t needed to heal many wounds, today. Hawke keeping away from the enemies had a number of perks.

Back in the cellar, the other Harimanns were gone, save for one. Flora waited sheepishly by the stairs back to the main estate, waiting for the group to return. She stiffened when she saw them, and bowed her head.

“Sebastian. I am so, so… ‘Sorry’ is such an inadequate word,” Flora said. “When I think what mother made us do...what those creatures made us do…”

“We were friends, Flora,” Sebastian said.

“It was like a cloud came down on me. All I could feel or think was what the demon allowed!”

“It’s not her fault, Seb,” Hawke said. “She was a victim in this, too.”

His grimace did not ease, but he relented to this truth. “Your mother killed my family,” Sebastian said.

“I know. We’ve never had magic in our line, so mother must have thought she’d be immune to the demon’s influence. Instead she became twisted, her jealousy knowing no bounds. She made the deal before we even knew the demon was there. If I could have stopped her… I wish now that I had,” Flora said. “This may not undo what has been done, but I found this on the body of one of the mercenaries. Mother killed him when he reported that the rest of the men in his company had died. Your doing, I expect.”

Flora held out a longbow of fine make. It was golden, shaped like two extending wings. Sebastian stepped forward, his face reflecting his awe at the sight of it.

“My grandfather’s bow? They had it?” Sebastian said, holding it tight in both hands.

“It appears they stole it when they…” Flora was unable to finish, her discomfort nearly palpable. “In any case, it belongs with you. It is only the beginning of the reparations I must see that we pay you. You are not the only one we’ve wronged, either. If it takes every last coin my family has, I will do what I can to fight back any who oppose your rise to the throne. It is your right, and you’ve my full support.”

“That is…” Sebastian said, still staring at the bow. His grip tightened as he met her gaze. “It won’t bring them back.”

“No,” Flora said. “I’m sorry.”

But Sebastian shook his head. “No one can change the past. To aim for a better future is admirable, I suppose. At the very least, it is a start.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Bodahn had taken to experimenting. Many...in fact, most of those experiments were failures, but a few times he managed to succeed in creating something truly delicious. Knowing that Hawke was going to the Chantry to see her prince friend again, he’d endeavored to create the best treat he possibly manage. Which had resulted in the lemon bars Hawke now carried with her.

Fenris came along, as well. Apparently he’d taken a bit of a liking to Hawke’s teacher, himself, and wanted to assist her in bringing Sebastian a bit of cheer. While he wasn’t much for sweets, Fenris also approved of Bodahn’s lemon bars and agreed that they were an acceptable offering for Sebastian.

Hawke found Sebastian in the same place where they’d first really met, not counting the time she’d stopped by just to let him know she’d killed a bunch of mercenaries for him. She slid up beside him on the pew, holding out the bag of treats. His head lifted at the smell, then his expression lightened when he saw Hawke.

“I thought all the praying might have made you hungry,” Hawke said.

Sebastian chuckled. “Thank you,” he said. “Nice to see you again, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded. “Likewise.”

Sebastian turned his attention back to Hawke. “I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon’s touch. But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I’ve bathed in filth that will never come off.”

“Did you try washing behind your ears? Evil does tend to stick there,” Hawke quipped. This joke didn’t work as she’d intended, earning a heavy sigh instead of another laugh.

“The demon didn’t lie,” Sebastian admitted. “I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince. Now everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes. I keep asking myself, ‘Do I want this because it’s right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?’”

“Aren’t you your parents’ heir?” Hawke said.

“I’m the youngest son of three. My parents were...rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold,” Sebastian said. “They put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers.”

“Somehow I always got the impression you chose to join the Chantry yourself,” Hawke said.

“You were put here against your will?” Fenris asked.

“At first. But it was the best thing that could have happened,” Sebastian said. “I was a wild boy, a shame to my family. The Chantry made me a man. It’s odd. When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

“Do you have an answer?” Fenris said.

“No,” Sebastian said, giving a gentle shake of his head. “It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart.” He stood then, and Hawke rose with him. “I owe you more than I can say. Both of you, for how you have helped me. I offer my service to you, in return.”

“You don’t owe me for this, Seb,” Hawke said. “Like I said, we’re friends. Those are the sorts of things friends do.”

Sebastian smiled. “Thank you, Hawke.”

Then he stepped forward and hugged her. She was glad he wasn’t wearing his usual armor, or it might have been uncomfortable. Instead, it was just kind of nice, though it did make her blush. It had been a while since she’d had much physical contact with someone besides her mother or Varric, and neither of them really counted to Hawke.

Sebastian moved to hug Fenris next, who sort of flinched at his approach. Noticing this, Seb repositioned himself, offering a hand to shake, instead. Fenris accepted this, though not without a few more moments of hesitation.

Hawke curiously watched the exchange. She’d never seen Fenris react in such a way to her touch, not that she recalled. She made a mental note to bring it up later, when the two of them were alone and it wouldn’t be quite as awkward to bring to attention.

“You have a good soul, Hawke,” Sebastian said, turning to her again. “It was truly the Maker who led you to me.”

“Ah, I’m not sure about that, but thanks,” Hawke said.

She made sure to stay until he’d actually tried one of the lemon bars in front of her, to gauge his response. He seemed to like them more than any of the other treats she’d tried on him. Hawke would have to let Bodahn know. Apparently he was keeping a big chart of the different flavors that Seb liked, picking out the best recipes to suit him.

Hawke wondered how weird it would be to ask him to make a chart for Fenris, too. She just wanted to be able to bring him something nice the way she tended to do for Seb. Knowing Bodahn, he probably already had a chart for each of her friends. All she had to do was ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seb chapter!!! At the time I wrote the summary for this, [History of Japan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mh5LY4Mz15o) was new and all over tumblr. So yes, you should absolutely sing the title like in that video.
> 
> Also, big Two-Oh! WOO!


	21. For Hire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!!! And Happy Hanukkah, Yule, Kwanzaa, etc too! Hope your holidays are fun and relaxing. Consider this chapter a gift from me to you.

The night had started with the intention of having more reading lessons, but quickly devolved from there once Hawke and Fenris got to talking. They’d been drinking together for a while, but Hawke still had her wits about her. Fenris, on the other hand, was lush. She even heard him hiccup once, which was about the most adorable thing in the world. Still, at the state he’d gotten to, it seemed like a good time to excuse herself and go home.

Except for the fact that he started talking again. “Last bottle of the Aggregio,” Fenris said, lifting it for Hawke to see.

She’d not even noticed that he’d popped the cork. Maybe she was drunker than she thought?

“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion,” he said. Fenris drank straight from it, then handed it to Hawke.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought, taking a swig for herself. It was damn good wine, and she had damn good company. She’d stumbled home in worse conditions.

“What’s the occasion?” Hawke asked. Other than the drinking it had seemed like a fairly normal evening. Even drinking wasn’t that unusual, among her friends. They just did it in the Hanged Man and not at Fenris’ house.

“The anniversary of my escape,” Fenris said. “ _Astia valla femundis._ Care to hear the story?”

That had Hawke’s full attention. She felt at least 10% more sober very suddenly. “I thought you avoided talking about this.”

“Not on special occasions.” Fenris was smiling, which was a good sign. He took another drink then placed the bottle down on the table.

“Well, you know I like to hear your voice,” Hawke said.

“There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman.”

Hawke nearly melted from that. He’d said things like that before, with rising frequency, but it still disarmed her every time. There was something about his sincerity, the husky sound of his voice… And it was just Fenris. The speaker made the words more meaningful.

“Let’s see,” Fenris continued. “You’ve heard of Seheron? The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries, now. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. I managed to get him to a ship—but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind. I barely got out of the city alive.”

“I thought Danarius considered you valuable,” Hawke said. Her hands were clenched over her thighs. Every time she thought of the man she hated him more, but to know that he’d left Fenris to die before particularly sickened her. This was the same man that had been chasing him for years, and at one point he almost let Fenris go just to save his own skin?

But Fenris was still in the same good mood, releasing a throaty chuckle. “He wasn’t given a choice,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. He had a smirk on his face, the same one that make Hawke’s heart flutter. “The look on his face as the ship pulled out was _priceless._ ”

Fenris leaned back again to continue his story. “There are rebels in the Seheron jungles called Fog Warriors. They found me and took me in, nursed me back to health. I stayed with them for a time. Until Danarius finally came for me.” The glare returned to his eyes, then.

“And you were with them willingly?”

“I’d grown fond of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was...beyond my experience.” Fenris had the bottle of wine in his hand again. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring at the label instead. “When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me.”

He took a drink, slower than before. For a moment he matched Hawke’s gaze. “He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I…” Fenris shut his eyes tight, leaning forward. When he opened them again, he was focusing on a spot on the floor. “I killed them all.”

Hawke’s chest felt tight. But she managed to breathe out one word. “Why?”

“It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this—this fantasy life was over. But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt… I couldn’t…” He lifted his face to show a bitter scowl. “I ran. And never looked back.”

Hawke moved to reach for him, but stopped herself. She remembered how he’d reacted to Sebastian that day in the Chantry. It seemed a boundary she ought not to step over. Not while whatever they had between them was still so new and volatile.

“I have to wonder, couldn’t you have found other Fog Warriors? Become a rebel?” she asked.

“Even if I did, I felt...unworthy,” Fenris said. “I had no way of knowing if I could truly escape from Danarius then. I didn’t even know what that meant. I simply had to get away. I stowed aboard a ship to the mainland and moved south...chased by my former master every step of the way.”

“And he never managed to stop you?” Hawke said.

“The rebels had wounded him. The soldiers he brought attempted to capture me—unsuccessfully. It was weeks before Danarius was able to mount the hunt in earnest, but by then, I was already gone.”

There was a long moment of silence after that. Hawke had more questions on her mind, but decided to leave them be. She found boldness where she’d lacked it before, and placed her fingers over his. It was the lightest touch, and his hand still stiffened, but he relaxed after a moment, meeting her eyes. Fenris shifted his wrist so that his palm faced the ceiling, and gingerly grabbed hold of her fingers until they curled around his.

“Thank you for telling me,” Hawke said. “It can’t be easy to talk about.”

“I have never spoken about what happened, to anyone. I’ve never wanted to,” Fenris admitted. “Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend.”

Hawke laughed. “Is that what we are?”

His hold on her tightened for a moment. “I…have never allowed anyone too close.” He slid his hand away. “When my markings were created, the pain was...extraordinary. And the memory lingers. But you are unlike any woman I have ever met. With you it might be different.”

Hawke blinked as something dawned on her. “You mean to say there’s been...no one?”

“If there was someone before, I have no memory of it,” Fenris said.

“There was no one after you escaped, even?”

“I stayed nowhere for long. Who would I trust?” His eyes trailed away. “I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone.” Fenris rose his gaze again with intensity unlike Hawke had ever seen. “Until now.”

She knew her cheeks were red from the telltale tingling she felt. There was also a delight in her belly, warming the whole of her. “I certainly hope you’re referring to me,” Hawke said.

Fenris smirked. “Who else?”

“Well, as far as I’m aware, Varric is single.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, voice clipped. “I would have no one else.”

Hawke smiled. “Good, because neither would I.”

Fenris looked so happy at that he practically glowed. “Another night, perhaps.”

And Hawke was just fine with that. They’d talked for hours, drank together, shared secrets, and held hands when it felt like it was getting too heavy to hold alone. The rest—the kissing and the touching and the words said while they were lost to pleasure—could wait. Of course, it did completely occur to Hawke that they’d just rain checked plans to sleep together. She thought she might float away from the bliss.

Fenris rose the Aggregio in the air. “A last toast, then: to the fallen.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke looked the guy over, leaning on one of the less-sticky tables the Hanged Man could provide. He seemed a little scrawny for a mercenary, but it was possible he fought more like Isabela. Still, Hawke had hoped for a little more muscle in their muscle. Intimidation was part of the job, and this guy couldn’t intimidate a flea.

“What are your qualifications for this position, exactly?” Hawke asked.

“I can stab things? You just need to protect one guy, how hard could it be?” the mercenary said.

“Confident, aren’t you?” Varric said, shaking his head. He had his elbows on the table and his fingers laced together, his eyes just peering over them. “You ever worked a bodyguard job before?”

“Once. Guarded a sheep from raiders.”

“That’s lovely, but have you ever guarded a _person?_ ” Varric said.

“No.”

Hawke groaned. This was going nowhere. “Thanks for coming, we’ll be in touch.” Behind her hand she mouthed to Varric, “No we won’t.”

The scrawny mercenary left, and Hawke signaled for Isabela to send the next one over. They thought they’d weeded out most of the duds or the guys who appeared to be...unhinged, yet people who were clearly unqualified still showed up. Varric said that was to be expected. Everyone can lie on parchment, but that’s why they were doing the face-to-face interviews.

The next guy actually looked promising. Tall, nice build, eyes that said, “I’ll kill you if you look at me wrong” but didn’t also say, “and hang your skin on my wall for decor.” What helped was that they were almost entirely black in color, with the slightest flecks of grey around his pupils. He had a little scruff around his chin and chiseled cheeks, which were also lined with dark red tattoos. His skin was tanned, darker than Varric and warmer-toned than Hawke.

He sat across from Hawke, who was staring. Varric nudged her under the table to bring her back to attention.

“Hello,” Hawke said. “Tyr, was it?”

The mercenary nodded. “That’s right. You must be Sarah Hawke.”

“Actually, it’s pronounced…” Hawke stopped short of telling the joke. “Oh. You actually said my name?”

“Should I not have?” Tyr said.

“She’s used to hearing meserre, now that she’s got the big fancy house and a family crest on her wall,” Varric teased.

Hawke shushed him. “Let’s just get to business, shall we? You’ve been in a fight before, Tyr?”

“Plenty. I’m Fereldan, same as you. Had to cleave my way through some darkspawn to get aboard a ship to the Free Marches. Wandered for a bit, tried out other cities, but wound up back here, in the end. More chaos, more coin,” Tyr said.

“You use a blade, then?” Hawke asked.

“Axe. Big one.”

Varric was grinning. “Sounds impressive. You must have taken a lot of jobs, wandering around the Free Marches.”

“Enough to keep food in my belly and for a place to sleep each night. Not much, but I make do,” Tyr said.

He seemed like an answer to their prayers. Maybe friendship with Sebastian earned them some perks with the Maker? Whatever the reason, this guy had fallen into their laps and seemed too good to be true. Which was why they had the real test.

They couldn’t hire just _any_ mercenary. Someone who took any job they could just for the coin could easily turn around to the templars if they made a better offer. Hawke needed someone with integrity to protect Anders. Knowing that he could hide in her cellar in emergencies was one thing, but she wanted someone there with him, just in case. Not that she’d told him she was doing this, yet.

“Now, how would you feel about fighting any apostates?” Hawke asked. She kept a mask of stone in place while she met his eye.

After what felt like a full minute of silence, Tyr stood. Hawke restrained herself from revealing any surprise. Varric kept similarly cool.

“I’m sorry, if you’re hunting mages, you should get a templar for this job,” Tyr said.

“Have you got something against fighting a mage?” Varric asked.

“Yeah. I won’t do it, so don’t ask me again,” Tyr half-growled. But when he turned, Isabela was in front of him, having received Hawke’s signal.

“Won’t you sit back down?” Isabela purred. “My friends here have an offer you might like, big boy.”

He seemed unimpressed by Isabela, but did turn back around to face Hawke. Tyr didn’t sit. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You have no need to be,” Hawke said. “We’re not hunting mages. We’re not fighting mages.”

“Then why ask?”

“To make sure you didn’t seem...over-enthusiastic at the idea.”

Tyr sat. “But a mage must be involved, for you to bring it up.”

“The one we need protected is an apostate in Darktown,” Varric said. “He runs a free clinic, and the templars have been particularly interested in finding him. They’re like bloodhounds the way they sniff around at his door.”

“Where do you stand on the issue of mages and templars, exactly?” Hawke asked.

Tyr swallowed. He spoke his next words in monotone, not betraying emotion in his inflection. “My little sister was a mage. The templars were just supposed to take her, bring her to their stupid tower. She fought too much and they roughed her up. Threw her on the ground and snapped her neck. They just left her body lying there. I was thirteen. She was younger.”

Hawke’s face paled. “That’s...terrible.”

She had no more reason to question whether he would stand with a mage anymore. With a glance to Varric, even he looked a little shaken by the story, though only one who knew him well would be able to see it. It was a pretty good sign that this guy wasn’t lying, if Varric was convinced.

“I’ve heard of the mage in Darktown. He’s a good man. Saw kids I thought would die practically come back to life after a visit to him. If that’s the person who needs guarding, I’ll do it.”

Hawke smiled. “We’ll have to discuss payment, of course, but that can wait a bit. My associate Varric will handle all the coin. Isabela? Send the rest away; we have our man.”

Isabela nodded and hurried to shoo the other mercenaries away.

“Now,” Hawke continued, “would you like to meet him?”

Tyr followed Hawke and Varric through Lowtown, then Darktown, until they reached Anders’ clinic. If Anders didn’t take this well, it would have been a wasted afternoon and Hawke wouldn’t feel any better about his safety. Tyr had passed all their tests, so surely he couldn’t pose any threat to Anders. No more than he already faced.

As they’d done with Sebastian, Hawke went in first. Although, this time Varric and Tyr were just a few feet behind her instead of on the other side of the door. Anders wasn’t with a patient, which made this a little easier. Instead he was working some herb in a mortar and pestle. He’d been mixing his own potions for a couple of years, now. Hawke gathered enough supplies while she was out to sustain a decent stock of elfroot potions and health poultices.

“Hey,” Hawke said.

“I’m busy, Hawke. You promised not to need me for a few days. The people in the clinic need me here, sometimes,” Anders said.

“All I said was ‘hey,’” Hawke said, crossing her arms. “Already with the lecture?”

He sighed, putting down the mixture he’d been working on and bowing his head. “Hello, Hawke.”

“Better. And I’m keeping my promise. I don’t have any jobs that are really worthwhile at the moment, anyway.”

“Didn’t you say something about checking on the mines at the Bone Pit?”

“Went. Spiders. Not going back for a while.”

Anders laughed. “Figures it would be spiders. So you’re just here for the company, then? With Varric and a handsome stranger in tow?”

“Actually, they’re here for you!” Hawke said.

“And it’s not even my birthday,” Anders said, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Hawke gestured for Tyr and Varric to come closer. She caught an amused look on the mercenary’s face, probably for the “handsome” comment.

“I’ve taken the liberty—since you’ve been in danger a lot more lately—of finding you a bodyguard,” Hawke said, presenting Tyr with a bit of flair.

Anders stood, staring for a second, then walked to a far corner of the room. He held up a single finger to indicate that he wanted Hawke and the others to wait. He paced, forcing himself to take deep breaths, flaring blue for a few seconds before ultimately calming down.

Finally, he came back, opened his mouth, and said, “No.”

“Anders, I know we didn’t talk about this, but I—”

“No, Hawke. I won’t have you paying a stranger to lurk around when he could easily tell someone _unwanted_ about this place. I can protect myself just fine,” Anders insisted.

“I’m not going to run to any bleeding templars, if that’s your concern,” Tyr said.

Anders blanched, then his eyes flashed. “He _knows_ I’m a mage? Why not just invite the Knight-Commander herself to have tea? Save them the extra steps!”

“Andraste’s ass, Anders, you think we didn’t make sure he wouldn’t put you in danger first?” Hawke said.

“By doing what? Asking him how much it would cost to keep his mouth shut?” Anders said.

Hawke opened her mouth, but Tyr put a hand on her shoulder. He wanted to handle this himself, apparently. She stepped aside and let him speak.

“I already told them my sordid story. I don’t feel it bears repeating. You’re a mage, so you know what it’s like when the templars come. They aren’t gentle. Not even with little girls who don’t have enough muscle to lift a small blade without using both hands. I bear no love for them. If you don’t trust that that’s the truth, then I’ll go. But you’re doing good work here for a lot of people. I don’t want to see that good end. Things in Kirkwall are bleak enough as it is.”

Anders blinked. Hawke spotted a little bit of pink in his cheeks before he attempted to hide it with his hand. She looked to Varric, who waggled his eyebrows to indicate that he’d noticed it, too. This promised to be more interesting than Hawke initially thought.

Anders cleared his throat. “I still don’t feel comfortable with you paying for this.”

“Consider it a donation to the clinic,” Hawke said. “We’re just donating a guy with a big axe to stand around and look menacing.”

“I still want to see that axe in person, by the way,” Varric said.

“Alright,” Anders said. “But I don’t want you scaring any of the people that come to see me. And if you’re hanging around here you’ll need to pitch in and help. And you’d better not be allergic to cats because I am not getting rid of Ser Pounce-a-Lot.”

“Ser Pounce! I didn’t even think to ask about that,” Hawke said, smacking herself on the forehead.

But Tyr smiled a bit and said, “I love cats.”

Truly he was Maker-sent.

Varric took Tyr aside to discuss the matter of coin while Anders got back to work. Hawke found Ser Pounce-a-Lot II and scooped him up in her arms, cuddling him close despite his small mews of protest. When she sat near Anders, Ser Pounce managed to wriggle free of her grasp.

“He never liked me,” Hawke said. “You’d better not be telling him awful things about me just to keep him from me. Because manipulating Ser Pounce like that is just wrong.”

Anders smiled, shaking his head. “I tell him only nice things about you, Hawke. Not that I’ve anything mean to say.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

Anders paused. A mischievous look grew on his face. “Maybe a few mean things.”

“I knew it.” Hawke laughed. “Let me know if anything goes wrong with Tyr. Even Varric and Isabela thought he seemed genuine, but he could be a really good conman.”

“So you admit to having doubts?”

“Only a few. And small ones. He also doesn’t know about Justice. I figured if that came up, you’d want to be the one to tell him.”

“Thank you,” Anders said. “You’re getting better with the oversharing, after all.”

“I’m trying to be. After Fenris trusted me with some things he’d never told anyone before, I knew I had to keep that to myself. So I’ve been working on it with other secrets, too,” Hawke said.

She’d not missed the way Anders’ expression soured at the mention of Fenris, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. Anders could hate him as much as he wanted, but Fenris wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he was only growing closer to Hawke. She could still hear his voice, a promise, ringing in her ear. _Another night._

“Just be careful with him, Hawke,” Anders said. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“He won’t hurt me. He’s been...gentle. And careful. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.”

“And if you’re being true to your word about keeping his secret, a lot that I never will,” Anders said. He shook his head. “Don’t forget that I’m here for you. I know you trust him, but if something goes wrong...I’m here.”

Hawke dropped her eyes to the ground. This kind of thing was supposed to have stopped after their conversation, but Anders still wandered back to his old habits. Seeing it now, Hawke had no idea how she’d missed his feelings before. The look in his eyes said it all.

“You don’t need to be,” Hawke said. There was nothing in her tone that allowed him to disagree. “I have Varric and Isabela and Sebastian… Aveline and Merrill, even. I’m not alone here. Do me a favor and… No, do _yourself_ a favor, and put yourself first.”

His face resembled Ser Pounce’s when he’d been kept out of a room for too long. Those two made quite the pair. Still, Anders agreed to try. He’d accepted their offer of help by way of Tyr, the axe-swinging mercenary, which was a start.

Varric let Hawke know what to chip in when he rejoined them. Hawke suspected her portion was kept small, knowing Varric. He wanted to look out for “Blondie” as much as Hawke did, and he wanted to keep Hawke from overspending and losing the estate again. Even though she insisted that would never happen, he still picked up her tab every so often at the Hanged Man or did other little things to keep the coin flowing.

“If that will be all, I’ll go and get my things,” Tyr said.

Everyone looked at him in confusion, then at each other, then back at him.

“Excuse me?” Anders said.

“I would be a more effective guard if I slept here. You’ve got plenty of space and cots. I assumed that was Hawke’s intention?” Tyr said, looking to her for support.

She threw up her hands. “I hadn’t honestly thought about it! But…” She turned to Anders. “He kinda has a point.”

Anders groaned. “I cannot believe this. I’m setting up extra wards tonight. It’s like sleeping in the bleeding Deep Roads all over again.”

Hawke apologized over and over again, but Anders was just tired at that point. She left with Varric, deciding she probably needed Seb to help her pray about this situation some more.

✖✖✖✖✖

“I see that George has found a nice little spot above the fireplace,” Isabela said. She poked at the little wooden halla, sad to see that the edges of Hawke’s ribbon had frayed.

“Actually, I think I misjudged,” Merrill said, sipping her tea. “It’s Georgina, now.”

Isabela wandered the edges of the room, nursing her drink. She’d brought along a thing of West Hill Brandy she’d stolen off of Corff. He’d probably find out later and make a big show of shouting at her for it, before either Hawke or Varric offered to pay to replace it. It wasn’t the first time she’d pulled a stunt like that.

“Well, she looks good up there,” Isabela decided, finally coming in for a landing on the other chair by the table. “So tell me, kitten, how are you? I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Merrill giggled. “Not ages, surely. It was just a few nights ago that you were here with Georgina.”

“A few nights too long,” Isabela said. “So? Has life been treating you well?”

Merrill frowned a bit, putting down her teacup on its saucer. The whole set was a gift from Hawke, given to her a day after Isabela’s halla. Isabela had made an exaggerated show of how upset she was for being outdone, which had made Merrill laugh. That had been the whole point of her reaction. Now Isabela felt badly for the elven mage, whose head was drooping.

“Am I crazy?” Merrill said, with more force than Isabela had expected.

“Yes, but only in a good way,” Isabela said.

“I thought the _Arulin’holm_ would fix everything. The mirror would work and everything would be right again. But I keep dreaming of Pol’s face,” Merrill said. “Everyone that I care for thinks I’m a monster.”

“Nonsense,” Isabela insisted. “I know I don’t, and neither does Hawke. I find it hard to imagine anyone more lovable than you.”

Merrill’s lips pulled into a small, shy smile. “I can think of someone,” she said. Her cheeks were rosy.

“Who, me? Well that doesn’t count, Kitten. Everyone loves _me._ ”

Merrill giggled again, the little braids in her hair bobbing as she shook her head. “You’ve been so good to me, Isabela. I wish I knew how to repay that.”

Isabela dragged her chair closer and grasped Merrill’s hands. She looked the elven girl dead in the eye, watching the blush grow brighter as Isabela grew ever nearer. Isabela then placed the quickest and tiniest of pecks on Merrill’s lips.

“There!” Isabela declared. She was laughing wildly. “Your debt has been cleared.”

“Oh!” Merrill had a hand floating over her mouth. “But that’s not fair! I didn’t even do anything. Let me try. I mean, I’m probably no good and I’ve never really kissed anyone before but...I want to try.”

Isabela smirked. She’d meant it first as a jest, but Merrill’s vigor made her curious. Merrill was cute, but she also seemed the type to get too attached. Hawke, Isabela suspected, would understand a night meant purely for the fun of it, checking feelings at the door. The last thing Isabela wanted to do was to lead Merrill on, but she’d underestimated her before. And curiosity was a demon of a thing.

Isabela closed her eyes and puckered her lips just so, waiting for Merrill to make her move. When a long moment with nothing passed, she opened one eye to see Merrill hesitant before her. “Well, go on, Kitten. Kiss me.”

“What if I’m bad at it?” Merrill said.

“I won’t say it’s impossible, because I’ve met some truly horrid kissers in my time. But you won’t be. I know it,” Isabela said.

“But you’ll tell me if it’s bad? If I know, then I could practice...somehow. Get better at it.”

Isabela could die from how cute Merrill was. “I swear to you, by the time we’re done, you’ll be an expert.”

“Sex, too?”

If Isabela had been drinking, she would have wasted a good amount of brandy by spitting it all out. “Now where is all this coming from? Not that I’m opposed, of course.”

“It’s just…” Merrill began, shifting in her seat. She pursed her lips, then pulled them to one side. “You’ve had many lovers, haven’t you?”

“Fewer than some think,” Isabela said.

“But you never stay with them.”

“No,” Isabela said. She started to twirl a bit of hair around her right index finger. “Why should I?”

“But the act of lovemaking is so...intimate,” Merrill said, a curious lift in her voice.

“I don’t ‘make love.’ What I do is only skin-deep, Kitten.” Isabela released the lock of hair and sat forward. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“I won’t,” Merrill said. “I don’t mind it.”

Isabela quirked one brow. “Is that so?”

Merrill swallowed and nodded. She certainly _seemed_ earnest, albeit nervous. Isabela got the feeling she wouldn’t accept being turned away. It wasn’t like Isabela wanted to reject her advances, anyway.

Isabela put a hand on Merrill’s knee, her thumb pressing against the inside of the elf’s thigh. “We should start slow. I’ve a lot to teach you.”

When Isabela kissed her again, Merrill squeaked softly. She’d not expected the fullness of Isabela’s lips or the warmth of her breath that mixed with her own. Heat filled her center, rising to her face. Her heart rushed as Isabela’s thumb pushed against her thigh, brushing her skin through her leggings.

Merrill pulled away with a small gasp. “Should we...go to the other room?”

Isabela grinned. “There’s no hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much _talking_ this chapter! Sheesh.
> 
> Think I dragged this out long enough? Probably. Well, next chapter is A Bitter Pill, so...you know what that means!
> 
> Also [here’s a picture of Tyr](http://67.media.tumblr.com/44acf35029175ae51fcfd5e9746a5d73/tumblr_o1hr4hLDwq1qejv20o2_1280.jpg) in case you were curious to see how he looks in game!


	22. A Bitter Pill

In the breeze, Fenris caught the slight scent of lavender. He didn't know that it was lavender, exactly, but it was a pleasant floral smell where there were no wildflowers in sight. He figured he must have been imagining it, until Varric made a note of it as well.

“What is that smell?” Varric asked, making a show of sniffing the air. “Is that you, Hawke?”

“Why do you think it’s me?” Hawke said.

“The wind blew from your direction. It’s like some sort of flower. Been spending too much time with Daisy or something?” Varric said. Everyone knew of Merrill’s habit of filling her home with stolen bouquets from Hightown gardens.

“No, I uh… It’s lavender oil,” Hawke said. For whatever reason she was blushing at this admission. Fenris took notice of the way her eyes flickered to him.

“Since we have the coin now I figured it would be nice to smell like something other than dirt and sweat and Darktown. I just run a little bit through my hair,” Hawke explained. She combed her fingers through the dark brown strands as she said this, going gently so as not to remove them from the ponytail she wore, tied up with her favorite red ribbon.

Varric was grinning. “Oh, I see,” he said, lengthening the sound of each vowel. “You smell lovely, Lady Hawke.”

Hawke grumbled something at his teasing. “Let's just get to the Bone Pit, already. Their message made it sound urgent.”

“Hawke, wait.” Aveline had been leading the group to their destination, but now she had a hand out to stop them. Apparently, something was wrong.

Hawke paused with the others, but couldn't see any reason for the concern. Aveline was rarely wrong when it came to these sorts of things, however. Hawke took a few tentative steps forward, with Fenris following behind. If he needed to, he could leap in front of Hawke to protect her at a moment's notice. She was capable with a bow, but she couldn't deflect enemy arrows with it.

When a man rose over the hill, Fenris moved instinctively to guard Hawke. His face paled when he recognized the man. Not him exactly—the man himself was a stranger—but what he wore told Fenris all he needed to know. He was another Tevinter slaver, and he was there for Fenris.

“Hunters,” Fenris growled.

“Stop right there!” the man said. Two guards flanked him, weapons drawn. “You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave and you’ll be spared.” He didn't even try to tell a story and lie about his work. No doubt the man was proud of his occupation and the coin he gained from the blood he sold.

Hawke moved to stand next to Fenris. She would not be intimidated. “Fenris is a free man!” she shouted.

“I won’t repeat myself. Back away from the slave, now!”

Fenris felt the anger boiling within him. The marks surged across his skin in a blinding flash of blue. His fingers curled, his back hunched, and his teeth bared; he had never felt more the wolf that Danarius called him. “I am not your slave!”

He could hear Hawke calling his name as he ran forward with his blade gripped tight in his hands. More men were appearing, hidden in places across the field in preparation for an ambush. Nothing could have prepared them, however, for Fenris.

Aveline followed, just a few steps behind him. In front of him, one of the enemy men was stuck in place with an arrow crippling his leg. He didn’t stand a chance as Fenris swung his blade through the air, carving into him and sending a stream of blood flying across the dirt.

Aveline offered backup. She pushed aside a man to his right, who stumbled backwards into another slaver just behind him. While Varric took the shot at the stumbler, Aveline skewered the one behind him.

They managed to make short work of the footmen, and Hawke took out the archers on the hills with precision. Only one of the slavers had been left alive, crawling on his belly in hopes of getting away. Fenris found him and marched over, grabbing a fistful of the slaver’s hair and the back of his collar.

“Where is he?” Fenris demanded. Before the man even had a chance to answer, Fenris slammed his face against the ground.

“Please don’t kill me!” the man whimpered.

Fenris pushed his head forward again, breaking his nose. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, I swear!” the man said, his voice made nasal from the injury. He spit out blood that had dribbled into his mouth. “Hadriana brought us! She’s at the holding caves north of the city! I can show you the way!”

“No need, I know which ones you speak of,” Fenris said.

“Then let me go, I beg you! I swear I won’t—”

Fenris didn’t give him the chance to finish, grabbing the man’s chin while keeping a hold on the top of his head. “You chose the wrong master.” Fenris snapped his neck in one clean motion.

He rose, staring down at the corpse. He could feel the anger still in him, only rising at the name the slaver had given. “Hadriana,” Fenris repeated it with a scowl. “I was a fool to think I was free. They’ll never let me be!”

Fenris turned to see Hawke, and hated looking at her. Her eyes held softness and he felt weaker for meeting them. He didn’t want her comfort. Not now, when he needed to focus on his goal.

“You know this person?” Hawke asked.

“My old master’s apprentice,” Fenris said. “I remember her well: a sniveling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. If she’s here, it’s at his bidding. I knew he wouldn’t let this go!”

Hawke frowned. “Then neither will we. You know where to find her?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned.”

“Then we’ll go to her. Anything else can wait,” Hawke said.

Fenris agreed. “We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare...or flee.”

He wished he could say he was no longer surprised by Hawke’s willingness to help. She recognized the immediacy of the issue and didn’t even try to see if they could wind back around to the city for reinforcements. Fenris told himself he ought to expect that sort of thing from Hawke, by now. He stopped short of thanking her like he wanted to.

They didn’t have the mage with them, which meant they needed to be particularly careful when fighting. Fenris knew they had a decent stock of potions on them, but who was to say how many people they would face in the caves? There were sure to be enemy mages, who wouldn’t hesitate to use blood magic against them. The rest would be powerful soldiers, well equipped thanks to Hadriana and Danarius’ combined wealth.

Fenris knew the lyrium in his skin kept glowing with each rush of fury. He hated it, he hated Hadriana, he hated knowing that he’d been caught off guard. He should have expected such a thing. He should have been ready.

Hawke stayed by him the whole way, barely talking, but clearly watching him. Her quiet was unusual, though he appreciated it. Fenris did wish that she wasn’t so worried. It made him feel...vulnerable. He didn’t tell her this.

There were guards at the mouth of the caves. Hawke approached with stealth, releasing an Antivan Firebomb at the lot of them. In the panic, most of them simply burned to death. The rest were taken out with well placed arrows and bolts.

“We must be careful,” Fenris said as they moved closer to the entrance. “There were many such holdings once, especially in the mountains, where individual slavers kept private pens. They were designed to protect against raids by fellow slavers. No doubt it’s why Hadriana chose this place.”

“They would attack each other?” Hawke said. “Like...taking out the competition?” She was visibly sickened at the thought.

“More than that. What better way to find slaves than to steal them?” Fenris said. “The holdings outside of Tevinter have mostly been abandoned, but they still exist.”

Whatever Hawke’s thought of these things were, she didn’t share them. She didn’t need to. Fenris could see her working through disgust, despair, until she reached a rage of her own. It wasn’t quite close to matching his, but it gave her an unholy focus.

“She won’t get away, Fen. I promise,” Hawke said.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke told herself—for the hundredth time—to stop glancing over at Fenris. Of course he wasn’t fine, how could he be? She just needed to be there for them and make pincushions out of his enemies. They could talk later, if he wanted to. If he needed to.

But Hawke hated this. She knew the marks caused him pain and suspected they were worse when he used them. All day he kept lighting up with a growl in his throat. Hawke wanted to calm him down, despite the fact that she recognized he needed to feel this anger. He’d never work through it if he didn’t.

So, when the demons and undead started coming for them, Hawke was actually a little relieved. These things were easy to deal with. Stab them, shoot them, chop them into bits… There were many ways to get rid of them.

Hawke did have to scurry forward when she noticed a floor trap, stopping Fenris or Aveline from stepping on it without meaning to. They’d gotten to the caves quickly, but not fast enough to prevent this Hadriana character from setting up a few things to impede them.

Didn’t Danarius want Fenris alive? These things seemed too deadly for that to be a huge concern of theirs. Maybe he’d moved past that. If he wanted Fenris dead, that was one more reason to stop him and Hadriana. Hawke wouldn’t let them succeed.

They heard a bit of sobbing and shrieking coming from the next room. They’d already seen the bodies piled up and discarded after they’d served their purpose. There was no shortage of blood magic in these caves. The number of demons they’d seen was proof of that.

Hawke rushed into the room, shooting targets like they were Danarius’ ugly vases, lined up for her to smash to bits. She hit four before her last arrow swerved right, as it always did. Varric picked up the slack on that shot, firing one of his own. The rest were taken out by Fenris and Aveline, leaving one terrified elf to cower away from all the fighting.

When Fenris stopped glowing, Hawke went to see the elf girl. She had bruises on her wrists from where one of the men must have grabbed her. Her pale blonde hair had partially fallen from the bun it had been held in, sticking to tear-stained cheeks. The others gathered with Hawke.

“Are you hurt? Did they touch you?” Fenris asked.

“They’ve been killing everyone!” the girl said, still shaking from the shock of it all. “They cut papa, bled him…”

“Why? Why would they do this?” Fenris asked.

Apparently, this was unusual even for Tevinter blood mages. Logically speaking, Hawke guessed using the kitchen or cleaning staff as sacrifices would just mean needing to train and hire more help too frequently. It was disgusting reasoning for sparing lives, but it should have kept this elven girl and her father safe. Hadriana was desperate.

“The magister...she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her,” the girl said.

Fenris dropped his gaze for a moment.

“This isn’t your fault,” Hawke whispered.

Fenris scowled and shook his head. “I know that.”

“We tried to be good!” the girl insisted. “We did everything we were told! She loved papa’s soup, I don’t understand…”

Hawke took a very careful step towards her. “What’s your name?” Hawke asked.

“M-my…?” The girl’s large green eyes only widened at the question. “My name is Orana, messere.” She curtsied, but in her trembling it was clumsy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Orana,” Hawke said. She smiled, trying her best to calm the elven girl. “My name is Hawke. I know this must have been frightening. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Orana shook her head. “But everything was fine until today!”

“It wasn’t,” Fenris said. “You just didn’t know any better.” His anger appeared to have been quenched, with sadness left in its wake.

“Are you my master now?” Orana said, approaching Fenris.

He jumped backwards in his surprise. “No,” he insisted.

“But...I can cook. I can clean! What else will I do?” Orana said, looking between him and Hawke.

“Make your way to Kirkwall. Ask one of the guard to lead you to the Hawke family estate. We’ll help you. Just...explain to my mother that I sent you,” Hawke said.

Orana lit up. “Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you!” She ran off without another word. It seemed like she knew the way out, but Hawke still wondered if she shouldn’t have simply sent Aveline to guide her. With luck, she’d find a merchant kind enough to let her ride in the back of their wagon.

Hawke was about to go when she caught Fenris’ glare.

“I didn’t realize you were in the market for a slave,” he said.

She blinked, genuinely shocked by the accusation. “I just gave her a job,” Hawke said slowly. “I intend to pay her. Or...have Bodahn pay her, since he handles most of the finances.”

“Ah,” Fenris said, the tips of his ears turned red with embarrassment. “Then...that’s good. My apologies.”

“Don’t you know me better by now?” Hawke said, forcing a grin to show there were no hard feelings.

“I should,” Fenris admitted. “I simply… Hadriana’s appearance has unsettled me. It is not… You have more than earned my trust, Hawke. I should remember that.”

“Let’s see this ended, then,” Hawke said.

The next few rooms were filled with enemy traps and soldiers, all doing their very best to kill them. Hawke and Varric kept an eye out for any suspicious-looking tiles, warning the other two away from them. Aveline and Fenris, in turn, kept the enemies busy and distracted, making easy targets out of them.

There was a level of focus in the group that they usually didn’t achieve. The last time Hawke remembered being this together was when they were in the Deep Roads. Back then, there was a need to survive that kept their minds in the battle. Plus, they’d been together for over two weeks fighting together.

This focus was a different drive. A sense of justice. A burning fury. Protectiveness. They stood with each other because they were needed.

When Hawke came to another door, a chill ran through her. She could feel that there was something wrong about what laid ahead. She mustered up her strength and pushed through.

Past a short hallway, the space opened up to reveal Hadriana. In the dimly lit room—reddish light bouncing from every wall—she stood with her mage’s staff at the ready and bloodied bodies all around her. Before her were four more guards; likely the only ones still alive in the caves.

“You’ve made a terrible mistake coming here, slave!” Hadriana shouted.

“Not as much as you have, witch!” Fenris spat back.

He tore ahead, but Hadriana was lifting her arms to cast a spell of fire. Hawke tried to reach for Fenris before it exploded around them, blowing everyone back. The guards were charred and lifeless, given up to set a trap for them.

Hawke coughed out the smoke from her lungs. “Fenris?!” she called. A hand came for her—Aveline’s—and brought her to her feet.

Fenris was standing again, as well, with only mild burns on his face. Hawke could see his lyrium glowing blue in the smog that surrounded him. He swept his sword in a full circle, cutting something down and blowing away a lot of the fog.

The guards had risen, stronger somehow, as Hadriana’s thralls. Hawke aimed her first shot for one of them as they lifted their blade to attack Fenris. Though the arrow sunk through its plating, the undead warrior did not stop. That shot would have at least made a mortal man fumble from pain, but this thing just snarled and kept moving.

Varric’s bolt soared until it shattered an undead’s skull. This seemed to work, sending the skeletal monster crumbling to the ground. Noticing this, Hawke mimicked Varric’s shot and tried for the head.

Fenris had made short work of the two nearest to him. All he had to do was cleave through them until they were immobile, which was simple enough with his greatsword. He turned his attention to Hadriana. She had a protective barrier shimmering around her. Blood swirled in the air, charging another spell of blood magic.

When Hawke felled the last of the undead, Hadriana’s barrier fell. Fenris started towards her, but was blocked when she raised a group of shades. It forced him backwards, but only for a moment before he rose his blade for another attack.

From the pile of bodies behind Hadriana, there rose a large group of undead. She didn’t seem very concerned with controlling her usage of mana. She just sent wave after wave of the creatures after them.

Hawke and Varric had to move more than they wanted to, lining up shots as they tried to dodge the creatures and their reaching limbs. Hawke couldn’t dodge all of them, winding up with cuts on the parts of her that were exposed. Her armor received a few nicks, but nothing so powerful as to render it useless.

While they were occupied, Hadriana attempted to make a run for it. She skirted around the edges of the room, trying to get to where they had entered to make her retreat. Aveline was the first to notice the mage slinking away, and alerted Fenris as soon as she was able.

Fenris was breathing heavily, the lyrium marks flaring up with each swing of his blade. When his attention turned to Hadriana, all other things in the cave may as well have disappeared. He dispatched the last of the shades that remained in his way and tore after her.

Hadriana lifted barrier after barrier to block Fenris’ blade, but the magic in them visibly weakened with each time the metal struck it. She was starting to fall to her knees, no longer able to summon up creatures to protect her. Fenris’ markings glowed brighter than ever, and he brought his sword down to shatter the barrier with a fierce cry.

Hawke’s attention was drawn away from the undead, who fell before her. The rest fell with it, as Hadriana had no more mana to keep them attacking. In her panic, Hadriana backed against the wall. Fenris lifted his blade again, his markings dulling as he prepared his final blow.

“Stop!” Hadriana cried, throwing up a hand as if it could shield her from the blow. “You do not want me dead.”

Fenris did not lower his blade, but stilled. “There is only one person I want dead more.”

“I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life,” Hadriana said. There was still pride in her voice, even as sweat dripped from her brow in exhaustion. She was pleading, but would not allow herself to sound as if she was.

Fenris scoffed. “The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I’d rather he lose his pet pupil.”

Hawke and the others came closer, but did not interfere. They watched intently, ready to protect their friend should there come the need for it.

“You have a sister,” Hadriana said. “She is alive.”

Fenris lowered his sword, his eyes widened just so. He sheathed it, not allowing his eyes to leave his target as he processed what she’d said.

Hadriana moved, pulling herself up onto her knees. It was only slightly more dignified than cowering with her back against the wall. “You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go, and I will tell you where she is.”

Hawke moved closer now, not trusting the mage’s intent in the slightest. “How do we even know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t,” Hadriana said with a bitter laugh. “But I know Fenris, and I know what he’s searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he’ll have to pay for it.”

Hawke had to restrain herself from killing Hadriana right then and there. As if Fenris hadn’t already given enough to this woman and her master. If anyone was owed their due, it was him. But the promise of a family was more than Fenris had ever known. This was not up to Hawke.

“Fen,” Hawke said, her voice betraying her with an instant of softness, “this is your call.”

Fenris lowered his head as he approached Hadriana. He lowered himself, bringing his eyes level with hers. His face remained a mask of indifference, but Hawke couldn’t see this. She imagined, instead, a coldness to his gaze. A look of pure hatred, which was all that the mage that begged for her life deserved.

“So I have your word? I’ll tell you, and you’ll let me go?” Hadriana said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “You have my word.”

Hadriana couldn’t speak fast enough. “Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman.”

“A servant. Not a slave,” Fenris said.

“She’s not a slave,” Hadriana confirmed.

With her last word, Fenris’ marks lit up anew. “I believe you.”

He reached into her chest, crushing her heart in his hand. It came away bloodied and the lyrium in his skin dimmed once more. He stood, turned, and began to walk away.

“We are done here,” Fenris said.

Hawke stared after him, her own heart racing. She told herself she wasn’t afraid, because what else was there to be afraid of besides him? She could not be afraid of Fenris, because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. But there was now the same coldness she’d imagined seconds earlier, shown in his hunched back as he stormed off.

Hawke started to follow, her tone gentle as she could make it without an audible trembling. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Fenris reeled on her instantly. “No I don’t want to talk about it! This could be a trap! Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this ‘sister.’ Even if he didn’t, trying to find her would be still be suicide. Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows. But all that matters is I finally got to crush this bitch’s heart.” He looked behind Hawke at the corpse on the ground. After that, he couldn’t meet Hawke’s gaze again. “May she rot, and all the other mages with her.”

Hawke believed he didn’t truly mean that. He’d been so kind with Bethany, after all. He was angry, _furious_ , and he had every right to be. With that as his only exposure to magic and mages for years, how could he not end up thinking the worst of them?

This was not time for arguments over these things, and she knew it. Hawke wanted to do anything she could think of to comfort him—holding him, talking, telling jokes until she got to hear his husky laughter again—but knew there was little he’d accept.

“Maybe we should leave,” she said. Hawke reached out for Fenris, her hand barely touching his shoulder before he pulled away from her.

“No,” Fenris said, “I don’t want you comforting me.”

Hawke recoiled, her face betraying her concern for him. When Fenris locked eyes with her, he weakened, and lowered his head again. Hawke held her hand to her chest, fingers curled against her palm.

“I...need to go,” Fenris said.

He left the other three behind. Hawke didn’t move, watching silently as he left. Even when he was gone she stood frozen, wondering if she’d done something wrong, somehow.

When Aveline laid a hand on her back, Hawke jumped at the contact. She’d almost forgotten that she wasn’t alone. Then she turned to face them, and realized that she’d also started to cry. Her tears left little tracks down her cheeks, though she stubbornly tried to wipe away evidence of them.

“Hawke,” Aveline said, “he’ll be alright. He’s been through a lot, but I know he’ll be back.”

But Hawke’s mind focused on the worst parts of that statement. “You think it’s possible he’ll just...leave altogether?!”

Which was when Varric hurried in to help. “No, no. That’s not what Aveline means. He just needs a bit of space. You can just wait until tomorrow, go to his mansion, and there he’ll be, like always! No need to worry.”

Hawke sniffled. “You sure?”

“If he can stay away from you with how enamoured he’s become, then he’s got resistance like a dwarf to lyrium,” Varric said, patting her arm. “The elf will be back to brood again.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke had hoped for a bit of peace and quiet at home, but things in the estate rarely went as planned. It seemed Orana had safely made her way back a good hour before Hawke arrived, and Leandra wasn’t sure what to make of it. Her mother scrambled towards her in a flurry moments after Hawke stepped into the entryway.

“Sweetheart, there’s a strange elven woman who says you’re her new mistress? Please tell me you haven’t gone out and gotten us an elven slave,” Leandra said, looking white as a sheet.

Hawke sighed, rolling her eyes. “Of course not, mother. Honestly, who do you think I am?”

She pushed her way through to where Orana was standing, with Sandal circling around her legs repeating the word “enchantment” as he liked to do. He played with different voices, saying it in various tones as if he was becoming different characters. Orana looked to be somewhere between charmed and befuddled.

“I’m glad to see you made it,” Hawke said. “Hey, Sandal, think you could go find your father for me? I need his help with something.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal said, this time in a voice Hawke assumed was meant to be feminine. He scurried off towards Bodahn’s quarters, where she heard a second burst of, “Enchantment!” that sounded more like it was coming from a mighty warrior.

“He’s excitable,” Hawke told Orana. “And that’s usually the only thing he says. But he’s quite sweet.”

“Of course, Mistress,” Orana said with a bow. “Mistress Leandra already informed me that you have hired help, here. But I will do whatever I can to assist them! Please, please don’t send me away.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Hawke said. “But you don’t need to keep calling me mistress or anything of the sort. You’re not a slave anymore, Orana. You’ll receive a salary, same as Bodahn does. Same as anyone ought to.”

“Really? Coin all my own?”

Hawke nodded.

Orana looked delighted for a moment, but her face fell to something more contemplative. “What would I do with it?”

“Uh...whatever you want to, really,” Hawke said. “I mean, you’ll probably take meals with us and we’ll give you a bed to sleep in, but you didn’t really come here with any belongings. You could buy some nice new clothes or boo— You probably can’t read can you? Well, I could have Bodahn teach you to read while I’m away, and _then_ you can buy books. Or sweets, if you’d like. Anything you want.”

Orana was wide-eyed. “My own clothes?”

“Yup!”

“I would own them?”

“That’s the idea.”

Orana put a hand to her cheek. “That does sound wonderful, Mistress. Thank you.”

“You can just call me Hawke.”

“Yes, Mistress Hawke. My apologies.”

“No, no, just… You know what, we’ll figure all that out in the morning. How about we work out which room should be yours?” Hawke offered.

This delighted Orana even more, who followed at Hawke’s heel as they moved through the estate. Hawke showed the girl a few of the empty rooms they’d made up for guests. She let Orana have her pick, but when she had difficulty choosing, Hawke picked the one that she knew had the nicer bedding.

Orana went back to the main hall just to get the one thing still in her possession; a lute that she used to play for Hadriana. Hawke wasn’t sure why she’d taken it, if she didn’t even have clothes that she actually owned, but did like the thought of having music playing in the house. She even considered asking for lessons. It would be nice to play and sing just like she was a traveling minstrel. Life certainly would be simpler as one.

Bodahn was awake, though yawning, when Hawke returned to the main hall with Orana. Orana took her lute and retreated back to the room she’d been given to get a good night’s rest. Hawke spoke with Bodahn and Leandra briefly, just to get them up to speed on the situation. Leandra was relieved to hear she was just meant to work there as a servant, not a slave, and took that as assurance enough that she could retire for the evening.

Hawke and Bodahn stayed up just a bit longer than that, discussing a manageable rate for Orana’s salary. Hawke sent him to bed before they were done as they were both too tired to continue. Bodahn would need to crunch more numbers in the morning, mumbling something about not having an abacus on hand.

Hawke grabbed a plate of random fruits and absconded to her room upstairs. Her stomach growled with the demand to be fed, but her eyes were also shutting of their own volition. She ate in bed and left the plate on the floor, where Hermes lapped at the leftover juice. Hawke reached an arm over and coaxed her mabari up into bed.

She snuggled up to him and whispered, “You think Varric was right, boy? Fen won’t be gone long?”

Hermes released a puff of air through his nose. Hawke wasn’t sure that was meant to be affirmative. It was probably more along the lines of, “Sure, whatever, I’m sleepy.” It would have to do, as he then turned over and mussed her sheets.

“Hey, you,” Hawke scolded. “Quit wiggling around.”

Hermes huffed, but calmed and slumped into a position more comfortable for sleeping. Hawke rolled her eyes before curling up beside him.

“He’ll be back. I know it.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Hawke, darling, you have no idea. Everyone get hype you know what’s coming!


	23. Distractions

Isabela pulled Hawke’s ale from her hand. “We are officially cutting you off.”

“I’m not even drunk yet,” Hawke protested, reaching after it.

“Yes, but you are emotionally drinking, and we have learned our lesson from that. Plus Aveline is here and would kick my ass if I didn’t stop you,” Isabela said.

Hawke groaned. “Please just let me try to forget...everything.”

“Hawke,” Aveline said, in her I’m-going-to-mother-you-whether-you-like-it-or-not voice. “It has been a _day._ There is no need to fall apart like this.”

“He wasn’t in the mansion,” Hawke said. “He might not live there legally, but it’s the only place I know of that he could possibly go to sleep. Something could have happened to him!”

“Or,” Varric said, deciding to jump in, “he’s fine and just taking a bit of time for himself. Isn’t he friends with Choir Boy? Maybe they’re off doing something together.”

“I checked in with Seb. He’s not seen him, either,” Hawke said. “He couldn’t have gone back to Tevinter. Even he said that whole sister thing seemed like a trap. Which it could be. I don’t want it to be. But it _could_ be.”

“He’s smarter than that, Hawke,” Aveline said. “I think I know what you need.”

Hawke lifted her head from where it had been, buried in her arms with her chin on the table.

“I’ve got a patrol going out to the Wounded Coast tomorrow. They head out bright and early. I can take you with us, introduce you more formally to some of the guard, have you help out. We don’t really have archers along for patrols, so it would be a great help.”

Hawke pursed her lips, pulling them to one side. “So you’re saying…distract myself?”

“I’ve heard worse ideas,” Varric said. “Tonight included.”

He had a point, as did Aveline. Much as Hawke wished she could say she knew that Fenris would come back eventually, she really wasn’t sure. He’d been running long enough to make a habit of it. The three years in Kirkwall could have just been some massive fluke, waiting for the next reason to bolt. Whatever “debt” Fenris had owed for Hawke’s help when they’d first met had been paid hundreds of times over. He had no reason to stay.

Hawke hoped he had at least one reason, but didn’t think she was enough to outweigh his family or his freedom. She’d have to think quite a lot of herself to assume that was the case.

“Alright,” Hawke conceded. “I guess I’ll see you bright and early, then. Which means this party is over for me.”

She picked herself up from the table, wobbling a little from being tipsy. Hawke was sober enough to make it home alone, at least.

✖✖✖✖✖

“That was quite the rousing speech you gave back there,” Aveline commented, sheathing her sword. The group of raiders her guardsmen had run into were all taken care of.

“Really? Cause I just said a bunch of words that Varric would have told people I said anyway,” Hawke admitted. “He has a theory that it has more to do with the tone than the actual words themselves. I could have read one of Bodahn’s recipes in a commanding voice and still instill bravery in your men.”

Judging by the way Aveline rolled her eyes, she didn’t believe a word Hawke was saying. She marched over to Lieutenant Harley to make sure none of the guard had come out of the encounter horribly injured. Which left Hawke to loot the bodies, as she so liked to do.

Hawke tightened the ribbon around her hair and bent down, rustling through for anything good. She found a bit of sailcloth on one guy—another bloodmage, shock of shocks—that looked like something Isabela might appreciate. Plus, they had a bit of gold on them. Nothing spectacular, however.

Aveline did promise to have the guard formally reward her for her service, but Hawke would just end up giving that coin to Orana. Hawke had promised to help her look for a few more outfits comfortable enough to work in, but that were pretty to look at, besides.

Lieutenant Harley thanked Hawke again, running ahead to file a report on the day’s activities. Aveline agreed to walk Hawke back to Kirkwall, and by the time they arrived at her estate, it was already time for dinner. She invited Aveline in, to at least be polite, but the guardswoman declined.

“I’ve reports of my own to file, then schedules to check and patrols to organize…”

“You’re busy, got it,” Hawke said. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

“I’ll...make an attempt,” Aveline said. That was probably the best Hawke was going to get. “And I’ll let you know if I see… I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” was all Hawke managed.

Another day and still no Fenris. How many days would a trip to Tevinter be? Surely more than two, but if he was really determined, he might have made it to Wildervale by now. North of Kirkwall and through the mountains...but wasn’t there a pass? Hawke would need to brush up on her geography before making any attempt to send out search parties.

And if she did eventually do that, it wouldn’t be to drag him back. She could never justify forcing Fenris to do _anything,_ but she was tempted to have people go looking for him, if only to return word that he was safe and not in Tevinter. Even if his sister was there, Hawke would not want Fenris to play into Danarius’ hand. He _was_ smarter than that, wasn’t he?

She sighed and weakly greeted Orana, who was already squeaking and going to get her tea. Orana had these little habits left over, reactions to Hawke’s bad mood which she knew must have indicated the state of things when Hadriana was less than delighted. When the lithe blond elf returned, Hawke asked for her to sit.

“I could just use the company, since mother is out with Gamlen tonight,” Hawke said.

“As you wish, messere,” Orana said with a little curtsy.

Better than Mistress, though Hawke still wished she would just use her name.

“Would you like me to play for you? Mistress always liked it when I would sing to her.”

Hawke winced at the thought of being anything like Hadriana, but nodded. “Maybe we could even sing together. Or…” Hawke clapped her hands together, convinced she’d just had a marvelous idea. “You could teach me to play! Always good to learn new things.”

“T-teach? Messere, I’ve never… I would be a very poor teacher,” Orana said, bowing her head.

“Nonsense,” Hawke said, “you’ll do just fine. You can’t be any worse than I am when…”

Hawke swallowed, diverting her thoughts back away from the nights she’d spent with Fenris, writing letters and explaining the sounds they made. It reminded her of quiet moments, years ago in the Deep Roads, tracing letters on the dirty floor. And all of that reminded her of the ache in her chest.

“I don’t need to be an expert, really. Just show me some of the basics. Enough to add it to my repertoire of parlor tricks,” Hawke said with a grin.

Orana, still hesitant, at least agreed to give it a try. She stood to get her lute, but Hawke asked her to sit again, calling Bodahn over to get it instead.

“You’ve already worked hard for today. Just have a little fun tonight,” Hawke said.

Orana shifted in her seat. She looked like she thought she’d done something wrong. Hawke had a hard time with telling just how badly she’d been treated when she was with Hadriana. She’d said it had been fine, but Fenris was likely correct in saying that she hadn’t known any better way of life. Had he been that way before? He seemed like he knew there was more out there, but how could he?

Hawke’s gut twisted with more pain. She missed him, worried about him, but all she could do was sit here with Orana and sip her tea. By the time Bodahn returned with Orana’s instrument, Hawke had deflated in her chair.

“Is everything alright, messere? You don’t look so well. Should I fetch messere Anders?” Bodahn asked.

Hawke shot up. “No, no need. I’ve just got sore muscles from all that archery. No need to bother Anders over that.”

Bodahn nodded, but still offered to fetch some elfroot to take off the edge, if she wanted. Hawke thanked him, but didn’t ask for anything to help. She was a _little_ sore, but most of the ache was something elfroot wasn’t capable of curing.

She forced her mind back on the present; Orana sat with the lute in her hands, looking expectantly at Hawke. When instructed to, she started a simple song, going slow so Hawke could watch. Orana pointed out where to place ones fingers to strum a certain note, or which strings to pluck where appropriate. Hawke barely blinked, hoping to absorb everything she could as fast as she was able.

Then, Orana entrusted Hawke with the lute. Sarah’s first attempts were...not pretty. Orana was very good at hiding a cringe, but Sandal released a howl of protest after the fifth sour note. Bodahn calmed his son and took him to another room, where he might not be bothered by Hawke’s attempts at music.

Orana was very, very patient, and by the time the both of them were yawning, Hawke had a very simple song down. Well, she had to go slowly, but she could play it. That was enough for her to consider the first lesson a success.

“So what is that song I just learned?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, it’s an old song, messere. A Tevinter children’s song. There are words to go with it, but they’re all in Tevene and I’m not terribly good at pronouncing anything in other languages,” Orana admitted.

“You mean people don’t just speak it over there?” Hawke asked, cocking her head.

“Only the upper class do, messere,” Orana said. “It is considered an honor to carry a piece of history and tradition with you. A slave would only learn some at their master’s request, or if it was a part of a song and they were meant to perform it. I know very few.” Then she cleared her throat and said, “Forgive me, messere. I should not be so chatty.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hawke said. “It’s nice to hear you talk, Orana. And you know a lot about Tevinter. Things not even Fen told me.” She bit her lip. It was no one’s fault but hers for bringing him up.

“Is that...the man who killed my Mistress?” Orana asked, her voice quiet to the point of quaking.

Hawke sighed. “He is.” She shook her head. “You met him on a bit of an...off day.” _Understatement._ “He’s really not a bad guy. Rough around the edges, sure, but sweet in ways you’d never think to expect. And funny. And... Maker, he’s a bit of a flirt. And seriously protective and patient and…”

Oh. She was smiling, and smiling a _lot,_ but her heart kept twisting and she was certain her eyes were a little watery. She blinked and held her head up so she wouldn’t find tears streaming down her cheeks. What she felt for Fenris surpassed anything she’d ever experienced before, and it was a little overwhelming to acknowledge it all.

“Is he your…?” Orana began, but shook her head. “Forgive me, I’m being—! I shouldn’t ask such questions!”

Hawke breathed a little easier, calming herself to help put the girl at ease. “It’s alright. I don’t blame you for being curious. Maker knows you’re better than most of the people in my life. Plus I guess… It does sound that way, doesn’t it? Like we’re...involved.”

Orana nodded silently. Hawke was pleased to let things grow quiet again, fighting the blush off of her cheeks and the embarrassment out of her system. When Orana finally spoke again, Hawke didn’t quite catch the words the first time.

“What was that? Sorry, I was drifting a little.”

“The name of the song,” Orana said. “It’s _The Rabbit and the Wolf._ I just remembered that you’d asked, Messere.”

Oddly fitting, in a way. Even Merrill had noted that the way Hawke shortened his name left the Elvhen word for wolf, “fen.” Then she’d rambled into a story about one of her gods, some Dread Wolf guy who locked people up then laughed a bunch about it. Hawke only remembered that because she could relate to the sort of person that laughed at their own jokes. It was a bad habit, and probably didn’t look any better on a god than it did a regular person.

Hawke had wondered, then, about the differences between the language of the ancient elves and that spoken by the Tevinter elite (as Orana explained it). She was no brilliant historian, but it did seem an odd coincidence, at least. Not that she could glean any brilliant conclusion from that mess.

Still, Hawke found it fitting, in a weird way. It took away the diminutive piece of his name, leaving him with the word that held more power and pride. Sarah had just called him that because she thought it sounded cute. But she couldn’t help but smile at the accidental deeper meaning.

“I like it,” Hawke decided. “Words or not, it’s a nice little song.”

“Would you like to keep learning?” Orana asked. She was still making herself small, but Hawke gave the biggest, brightest smile she could muster. That made Orana shrink a little less.

“Absolutely!” Hawke said. “Just not tonight. It’s late and I’m sure we could both do with some sleep.”

Orana stood and did her little curtsy. “Yes, messere, understood. Is there anything you wish me to do to help you prepare for bed?”

Hawke shook her head. “Nah, just go on and get some sleep for yourself. I can take care of myself.”

“Of course, messere. Sweet dreams,” Orana said.

Despite sounding like she was agreeing to Hawke’s arrangement, she still stood by, waiting until Hawke had gone up to her own room and shut the door before scurrying off to her own quarters. Hawke took a deep breath. Orana might be teaching her the lute, but Hawke would need to teach her some independence. Bodahn had already worked on some of it, and she was young, yet.

Hawke just figured it might be a good idea to only expose Orana to the more...reserved friends Hawke had in Kirkwall. Sebastian would be fine, and Aveline would warm to her with a bit of time. Varric was a bit of a mixed bag, but some poking and prodding could convince him to behave. Fenris…

Hawke wanted Orana to know Fenris. Not just seeing him at low points where his emotions overtook him, but seeing him when he was happy. If everyone could see the person that Hawke did, they wouldn’t hate or fear him. She had to believe that.

✖✖✖✖✖

Tyr was getting sick of this runaround they were getting. By the look on Hawke’s face, she as just as fed up. The dwarf—Varric, he remembered—appeared to be bored. Anders was a bit of a harder read.

Yes, he was the one Tyr had spent the most time with, but he’d received the cold shoulder from Anders more than once since their meeting. The mage had accepted the offer of protection his friends had arranged for, but it was clear he didn’t trust Tyr. Stories about trauma were a copper a dozen in Kirkwall. Even if Anders did believe that Tyr wouldn’t be quick to betray him, he still kept his secrets close to his chest.

The proximity they’d been living in hadn’t helped much either. Anders had lit up when Hawke asked him to help her with her little Bone Pit business, but darkened again when she’d also told Tyr to come along. _“You might as well,”_ she’d said.

Fair enough, as he had nothing better to do and was only getting paid so long as Anders was safe and alive. Yet, it did him no good if his presence only soured the mood of his charge. So maybe the fact that this ridiculous guild of thieves was giving them a wild goose chase to follow was not the only thing bothering Tyr.

“Ah. Good. To the darker depths of Darktown,” Hawke said, whirling a finger in the air in a silent and sarcastic _whoopee._ “I can’t wait to go home and smell like what everyone in Kirkwall ate last week and already shat out.”

“Feeling particularly crass today, are we?” Varric teased.

“I’m cranky,” Hawke said. “And I _hate_ Darktown.”

“That does seem to be the popular opinion around here,” Varric said.

“Not that most people get a choice,” Anders said. “They don’t just hand out Hightown estates.”

“If there’s one still standing that that elf friend of yours has been squatting in for years, maybe they should be,” Tyr said.

All three of the others reacted visibly. Hawke looking glum, Anders furious, and Varric...exasperated. Tyr had just planted his foot directly into a massive pile of shit. (Figuratively, this time. But in Darktown the literal piles of shit weren’t too far off.)

“Hah,” Hawke said, trying to cover for the way her face had fallen. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Still no word?” Anders asked.

“...no.”

“What is that bastard thinking? I thought that of all the people—who aren’t Fenris himself—he’d have to care about you. And now he can’t even be bothered to say goodbye?” Anders said.

“Blondie, take it easy,” Varric said, making his voice low. “Hawke’s already feeling bad enough. You really think she’s the person to yell at?”

“I…” Anders stopped, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “I just mean that it isn’t your fault, Hawke. Where ever he is, it’s… He’s…”

“I get it, Anders,” Hawke said. “You’re forgiven. Let’s just please take care of the thieves and be done. Then I can go home and draw a bath to wash off the smell of this Maker-forsaken place.”

“You’re not kidding about that. What is the Chantry even doing with—”

Tyr put his hand on Anders’ wrist, taking the initiative to stop him before he launched into another tirade. Anders jumped at the contact, yanking his arm away. Tyr lifted his open palms to show he’d meant no harm in the gesture, but pointed silently to Hawke. One look at her sullen expression, and Anders no longer felt the need to rant about the Chantry.

Not for now, anyway.

Tyr was more relieved than he should have been when the idiots picked a fight with them. He got to flex muscles he’d not used in a few weeks, swinging his axe around and bringing down Hawke’s enemies. Most of Anders’ enemies had been things like a bad cough or a sore back. Tyr had helped carry supplies (and even patients when needed) and to stir and mix potions. But nothing was quite the rush or workout that fighting goons was.

“For people to go against you Hawke, they either have to be incredibly stupid, or new in town,” Varric noted. He was helping her count out their coin.

“Sometimes both, probably,” Tyr said.

Varric nodded in approval. “True enough.”

They said goodnight to Hawke and Varric, waving as they went on their way. Tyr and Anders were going to head back to the clinic. Together. As always.

Tyr wished he felt less of a sense of dread about that.

Anders wasn’t an unlikable person. He had his causes, and Tyr supported them. But nothing could be comfortable when it seemed like the person you were living with and spent your days protecting kind of hated your guts. _Maybe not hate,_ Tyr thought, dragging out a small hope he yet held in him.

It wasn’t something he had to consider much, watching Anders fall right back into his work when they arrived. Tyr sighed, leaned his axe against a wall, and fell to sit on a stray box. He rubbed his neck.

Apparently, not using the muscles needed to swing around massive weapons for a little while, then immediately going right back into the heavy duty work such a fighting style required… Well, he was a little tense. Tyr was not proud of the groan he made, trying to relieve some of the pain and work out the knots in his back.

“What in the name of sweet Andraste was _that?_ ” Anders asked.

Tyr lifted his head. Anders had a little bit of a red face. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the most innocent sounding noise Tyr could have made.

“Just...my neck,” Tyr said. _And shoulders and back and arms…_

Anders took a moment before he relaxed, sighing and going to grab a few things. He looked over the jars he’d collected, then selected one of them. The rest he put back where he’d found them, in the piles of stored up things they kept in case of some specific injury or ailment. Mostly they just needed decent health potions and poultices.

“It’s probably because your weapon is almost as tall as you are. Which is really impressive, considering you’re something of a giant,” Anders said. He walked over to Tyr, then around and behind him. “You’ll need to take off your shirt for this.”

Tyr raised a brow, glancing back at Anders.

“I’m not going to ogle you or something, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Anders said, almost too quickly. “This just needs to go directly onto your skin if it’s going to do any good.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tyr said. Not that he’d mind having Anders’ hands on him. He’d just rather that be under other pretenses. Especially considering their resources here were scarce.

“Not that I don’t believe you, but I don’t hear people _moan_ like that over something small,” Anders said.

“It was more of a groan,” Tyr said. “But I can’t help but notice that would mean you’ve heard people moan before.” He showed a teasing grin, turning his face to be certain Anders would see.

“I’m not a complete hermit,” Anders said, getting defensive. “Or...I’ve not always been.”

“Not by choice, I take it,” Tyr said. He finally did as he’d been asked and started to work on getting out of his armor. At least enough that he could uncover his torso.

“Not...entirely, no,” Anders said.

Tyr could practically hear the grimace. “You and Hawke…?”

“No,” Anders said sharply. Then he sighed, his tone softening once more. “Sort of. It was unrequited. I’m sure you can guess who she picked over me.”

“The elf,” Tyr said.

“Yes. _Fenris._ Undeserving little ass that he is.”

“I can’t say I understand the hate you bear for him. But then again, I’ve never met the man.”

The last bit of the armor hit the floor, with Tyr’s tunic following soon afterwards. Anders hesitated before placing his hands on the mercenary’s broad shoulders. He cleared his throat as he started to massage the pains out of Tyr’s neck. Tyr managed not to moan again (not that he was admitting it had been a moan), good as it felt.

“If you do, you’ll see. He hates mages, believes we should all be locked up or killed, and refuses to even listen to anyone who disagrees with him. He’s stubborn and rude and unkind. Nothing near deserving of Hawke,” Anders said.

“But you are?” Tyr asked. There was no maliciousness to his tone, and no intent to taunt. Just curiosity. Though he understood why Anders took it the way he did.

“And that would be so ridiculous? Hawke having feelings for some apostate living in the gutters of a city where she’s making a name for herself? You just couldn’t possibly imagine any reason for that?” Anders said, tearing away from Tyr.

Tyr turned, meeting his gaze. Anders’ face was flushed, both from his anger and his mounting embarrassment. Tyr sighed.

“No. Actually I thought you _had_ been together, with how protective she is of you. Sorry if I implied anything otherwise.”

Anders stared for a long minute, then took a deep breath and relented. “It’s alright. I don’t deserve her, anyway. If she became involved with me she’d have to deal with everything I’m involved _in._ All it would do is put yet another target on Hawke’s back. In some ways it’s a relief she didn’t want me.”

“So...what? You just stay alone because you don’t want anyone to deal with the templars and sickness?” Tyr asked.

Anders paused again, with another long break in the conversation. Finally, his eyes took on a steely quality. “It’s not just those things. Do you _truly_ wish to help mages? To see them free of the Circles and the oppression of the templars?”

Tyr quirked a brow, then knit them together in a determined look. He nodded.

Anders still didn’t look quite convinced, but decided that would have to be enough for now. “Then tonight we should talk—about the mage rebellion.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke’s blisters had blisters, her aches had aches, and she was just tired. She took a swig from a potion she’d brought along, which alleviated enough of the pain to make it the rest of the way home.

Five days she had distracted herself. Hawke had hoped the worry might settle over time, and in a sense it had simply from being used to it being a near constant feeling. However, the fears were worse and seemed more legitimate. Fenris could be well on his way to Tevinter by now. Even if that wasn’t his destination, to be gone this long implied that there was no intention of coming back.

She opened the door, about to call Bodahn to help her with her things and put on a pot of tea, but the words died in her throat. Her eyes widened at the sight of him—dark skin covered in pale lines, shock of white hair, and beautiful green eyes that she got lost in even now. Hawke let her bow and quiver fall to the floor with her pack.

She breathed out. “Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you thought this was gonna be "that chapter." Rest assured, it’s gonna happen. Next chapter. You know what I’m talking about ;)
> 
> Also yes, Anders has old school Icy-Hot. Shit works wonders.


	24. Spilling Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the longest smut scene I have ever written. This chapter is NSFW if that wasn’t obvious!
> 
> Also if you want to listen to [Fenris’ theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kOL3cAVpL8) while you read this I certainly won’t stop you.

Hawke didn’t resist the urge to throw her arms around him. Fenris went taut at the contact, but settled into it and accepted the sudden affection. He had been gone for _five days_ after all, and should have expected a bit of this sort of thing from Hawke.

“Hawke,” he whispered, his voice full of all the feelings he’d been going over in his head. But she pulled away to look at him, and Fenris remembered himself. “I’ve been thinking...about what happened with Hadriana.”

“I…” Hawke breathed, then took a step back. “Can I ask where you’ve been, first?”

“I stayed around the caves for a while,” Fenris said, turning his head away from her. “To be certain no one else was coming to look for me...or for her.”

That made sense. They wouldn’t have wanted to return to Kirkwall only to be pursued by another group poised to attack. Hawke suspected he’d been doing more than just that, but she didn’t bother to ask. Thinking about it, the details hardly mattered, so long as he was here and safe.

“I was worried,” Hawke said.

“I’m… I know.” Fenris took a deep breath. “After Hadriana was dead, I took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so. I was...not myself. I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea where you went. I thought…” The air rattled in her chest. “I didn’t even know if I’d ever see you again.”

“I needed to be alone,” Fenris said, though he’d winced at Hawke’s comment. He started to pace. “When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep… Because of her status, I was powerless to respond, and she knew it.” He’d stopped to look at Hawke again, a deep crease between his eyes. “The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now… I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“This...hate. I thought I’d gotten rid of it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me—it was too much to bear.” He grunted, turning away. “But I didn’t come here to burden you further.”

“Wait!” Hawke burst. She reached out to grab his arm, but when she touched him it was gentle, the barest tug urging him back. “Don’t go, Fen. You don’t have to go.”

She could see the lyrium flare under his skin. Even more, she could feel it tingle with energy beneath her palm. She was no mage, but still her flesh responded with the contact.

He whirled around and grabbed Hawke by the hip, fiercer than she had been. Fenris pressed his free hand against the side of her face and brought her close. She could feel the barest beginnings of a deep exhale on her lips before they made contact with his, swallowing the breath he’d taken.

Hawke couldn’t even begin to process what was happening, but she found she didn’t care to. What room was there for reason when Fenris was kissing her in the foyer? Not the place she’d really imagined this happening, but it wasn’t as if those fantasies could live up to the real deal.

She ran her tongue across his top lip and tasted the salt of his skin. She shivered.

Fenris pushed her further back, and she let him. She put her own arms around his neck, letting some of her fingers tangle in his hair and urge him closer. Before long, Hawke found herself pressed to the wall. She released a gasp when Fenris broke the kiss to press his lips against the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, trailing slowly down to nibble at her neck.

“Fenris,” Hawke sighed. She opened her eyes to gaze at the ceiling. Only then did reality start to sink in a little. She nudged his cheek with her hand, bringing his eyes to hers. “We should...take this to the other room, right?”

That turned the tips of his ears red, and Hawke was suddenly very tempted to tug at his lobes with her teeth. She bit her lip in efforts to resist.

“That might be more...appropriate,” Fenris said, taking a while to find the word he wanted.

Hawke adored him. And now that she could, now that he was here, she kissed him again. It was quick, gentle, soft; nothing like the previous kiss that was full of need and unspoken passion. This was just one little peck to communicate to him the way her heart swelled at the thought of him, and the way her stomach had been twisting for fear that he’d been lost to her.

Well, and to tell Fenris—in no uncertain terms—that she wanted him.

Fenris smiled, and breathed out one word, “Hawke.”

She lead him by the hand, a finger over her lips as if that was the only gesture needed to escape discovery. Bodahn and Sandal were surely at work in the kitchen, with Orana off cleaning something, and her mother...was she with Gamlen tonight? It didn’t matter. Hawke had Fenris and no one saw either of them as they swept up the stairs and behind her door.

Fenris wasted no time in taking her lips again, her face between his palms. She actually let out a muffled yelp when one of the points of his spiked gauntlets grazed her skin. He recoiled instantly.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Hawke laughed lightly. “Well, you didn’t draw blood,” she said. “Perhaps it’s best if you take those off, first?”

More blushing ensued, though Fenris realized she just meant his gloves. At least, for the moment, that was all he was expected to remove. He tingled at that thought, the lyrium under his skin singing at his arousal.

As soon as his gauntlets hit the floor, Fenris buried his hands in Hawke’s hair. She gasped into another hungry kiss, pulled flush against him. The way his tongue worked its way past her lips sent her thoughts to the other places she’d imagined it on. Hawke squeezed her thighs together, to alleviate some of the aching need building between them.

“Fenris,” she sighed. She moved her head and pressed her lips against his jaw. When he twitched at this new contact, Hawke paused again. “You alright?”

He shook his head, but did nothing to loosen his hold on her or allow her to twist away. “Hawke, you know I’ve never…”

Then she smiled. Of all the things for him to worry about, this was the simplest to put at ease. Hawke pecked his cheek in a manner meant for comfort.

“I’m new to this, too,” she reminded him. “We can just...take our time. I want you to enjoy this.” Hawke kissed him again, feeling the tingle return to the surface of her cheeks. “I want you to feel good.”

Fenris felt a surge of affectionate warmth in him. Hawke was so beautiful, so tender, so caring… He knew he could easily pledge himself to her. All the times he had doubted her...he felt like a fool to recall them. She was worthy of his trust and so much more.

Fenris and Hawke did as she had said, cherishing each moment and touch. He stripped her slowly, and guided her hands as she attempted to do the same with him.

“Tevinter armor is bizarre,” Hawke said with a soft laugh. “Is there anything about that country that makes sense?”

“No,” Fenris said with a little grin, “but I've found they have excellent taste in wine.”

Hawke snorted, and Fenris pulled her in to kiss her more. He couldn't help but want to savor the taste of her skin and lips. He wondered what the rest of her tasted like, as he drew a finger over her smalls, the only thing left to cover anything below her waist. Hawke gave a quiet moan at the contact, and Fenris was smirking like he’d just won a round of Wicked Grace. But this was so much more rewarding than mere card games.

He continued teasing her there, delighting in the way Hawke squirmed against him. “How does this feel?” Fenris asked with a husky breath.

“It feels like you should finish undressing me,” Hawke said, a desperate edge to her voice. What Fenris was doing to her was the sweetest form of torture ever invented. It didn't help that her pulse reacted to his laugh, that spot between her legs throbbing.

She almost sighed with relief when he relented and aided in the removal of her tunic. It was worth it for the look of hunger in his eyes as he stared at her almost naked body. Just her smalls and the bandeau around her chest were left. Fenris, on the other hand, still had his chest and legs fully covered, though all the spiky bits were gone.

Hawke noted some hesitation again. She gave him a quizzical look, leaving the unspoken question in the air.

Fenris was still flushed, but took a step back from her for a moment. “I will show you,” was all he said, before getting down to his smallclothes.

Hawke stared. She almost felt she shouldn't. How many times had he been under someone’s scrutinizing gaze, studying the marks that truly traced every inch of him? But Hawke was not looking at the lyrium tattoos alone, but the man that held them. And he was...

“You’re gorgeous, Fenris,” Hawke breathed. The way she said it, it was almost like she couldn't believe her eyes. “All of you…”

Hawke closed the gap between them and ran her fingers over his chest. She raised her head to meet his eyes, and saw a different kind of disbelief in him. Fenris was watching because this all seemed like a fantastic dream and he very much did not wish to wake up.

So he kissed her again, grabbing her hands in his and holding her fast to him. Fenris guided her towards the bed and pulled her down, sitting while her knees rested on either side of him. His nails ran down her back, gentle so he would not scrape her skin.

Hawke shivered again, her own hands playing against his chest, testing his responses. When Fenris groaned as her touch grazed his nipples, she smiled and pecked his cheek. She _really_ enjoyed that sound.

Hawke was able to elicit more dulcet moans from his mouth as she settled against his lap, pressing against the hardened bulge covered by his smalls. She ground her hips to see how he would react. For her effort, she got to hear the best sound she had ever heard in her entire life.

“Hawke,” Fenris sighed with lust. His eyes closed for a moment, head leaned back as he felt her move against him again.

It was almost too much. Even with the thin pieces of cloth that remained between them, Hawke’s touch was thousands of times better than his own hand. And she was so _warm_.

“Fenris?” Hawke said, kissing him between words. “Can you...say my name?”

“Hawke,” he said, attempting to sound seductive. Fenris let his fingers play idly with the top of her smalls.

“Not… I meant _my_ name,” she clarified, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Fenris pulled back. At the sight of her ruddied cheeks and evasive eyes, he realized she was actually somewhat embarrassed by this request. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, then again on her cheek, before he kissed the spot where her ear met her face.

“Sarah,” Fenris murmured against her skin. His hands slipped further down, squeezing the soft, rounded curve of her rear. “Sarah Hawke, you are so beautiful.”

Her face was a blaze of heat as she tucked it into his neck, both nuzzling him and attempting to hide. Maker… Fenris made her name sound so incredible. This close, every word he spoke was a rumble in his chest that vibrated through her, as well. And she wanted him. Maker, _Maker_ did she want him.

“Please,” Hawke whimpered, despite not knowing what exactly it was she meant to beg for. All she could think of were his hands and lips on her. On every part of her. And there was also his stiff erection, pressed now against her belly.

Fenris chose to interpret her plea freely as he desired—needing to respond in some fashion to the jolt of heat it sent coursing through him. He groped her ass a little more before taking hold of her hips instead and flipping her. Hawke landed with her back against the bed, her knees curled around the edge of the mattress.

Fenris hovered over her for a moment, adjusting his own position before starting to tug at her breast band. Before he continued his efforts to answer her desires, he wanted to take in the sight of her. _All_ of her.

It was cute how her nipples rose stiffly in the cool air of her room, the skin around them pebbling at Fenris’ touch. In trying to repress the noise that was sure to burst out of her, Hawke ended up squeaking instead. Fenris chuckled again, sending a rumble through her stomach and a flutter through her heart. He kissed her sweetly.

“I want to hear you,” he whispered against her lips.

A choked mumble came out of her at that, and Fenris just laughed again.

“Well it’s not fair when you’re being so...so—!” Hawke gave up and covered her face with her hands.

Fenris stilled. “Do you need to stop?”

Oh, stopping was the last thing she wanted to do. But she supposed that wasn't what he’d asked. Did she need to? She didn't think so. In fact, Hawke needed very much for him to continue what he’d been doing before.

She shook her head, lowering her hands to expose her eyes. She caught the worry in Fenris’ gaze and… _oh._

Some things clicked together in Hawke’s mind. Years of violence, being treated like some prized pet and a dangerous animal all at once… She couldn’t bear the look he gave her.

“No, Fen. I’m alright,” she said, extra softness creeping into her tone. “Do you...need to?”

There was a moment of surprise in Fenris, then a smile that made Hawke melt. “The only thing I need right now is you.”

And how was anyone meant to resist that?

Sarah had her arms around him again in no time, kissing him fiercely. She didn't need to know the extent of his history, but she would be sure he knew the better parts of the world and experienced them to their fullest. A night together spent as equals, making love at the pace only they would set—she wanted that for him. And for herself, as well.

Fenris returned his hands to her breasts, then after a moment, he allowed one of them to snake down her torso until he was stroking her thigh. Hawke didn't stop herself from moaning this time, and Fenris responded in kind by starting another deep kiss. The feel of his tongue against hers sent her soaring.

“Maker, Fenris…” Hawke mumbled in a hazy euphoria. His lips were on her neck now, and then his teeth. She could feel him leaving marks, like she was a teenager again stealing kisses behind the boathouse in Redcliffe.

But this was so much better than those inexperienced fumbles. Though neither had done something quite like this before, they knew enough about what was supposed to happen that every motion was deliberate…and _delightful._

Before long Fenris had done away with her smalls, leaving her exposed as his fingers trailed further inward, towards her center. At the first graze against her sex, she gasped his name. Fenris smiled at the success and circled her clit languidly. Hawke’s head was thrown back against her pillows, sighing and moaning for more.

Fenris kept his hand moving slow against her, the other still teasing her breast. He had a plan. He rained kisses down her body, pausing as he pleased to leave little reminders for her to find later on. Fenris took one of Hawke’s nipples into his mouth, sucking before flicking it with his tongue. Hawke’s cries escalated for a moment.

“Fen!” she cried. “Fenris… _Fen_ …” It was as if she were reassuring herself that this was real; this was happening. He was there with her, his bare skin warm against her own and only growing in heat when the lyrium marks flared.

Hawke wasn’t certain when he’d gotten so far down her body, until her golden eyes met his olive ones. Fenris hovered over the apex of her thighs, both thumbs rubbing circles on her legs. She breathed deeply, and this time when she whimpered a soft, “Please,” she knew what it was for.

Fenris answered her request. He dipped his head down between her legs and planted a kiss firmly on her clit. Hawke’s cries raised in volume again. The heat of his tongue made her melt under him. He lapped at her slowly, then added a finger that he pushed between her folds.

She couldn’t stop herself from squirming. Fenris pressed a palm against her hip in an attempt to still her, though part of him didn’t want to. It was easier to work her when she wasn’t bucking up into his mouth, but Hawke looked so lovely as she writhed with pleasure.

He wished he could just watch her like this. Fenris imagined what she’d look like using her own hands to bring herself to completion, and moaned against her slick flesh. It wasn’t the first time he’d pictured something like that, but now he had better reference, and it was all the more vivid.

Fenris sucked hard on her clit until she began to tremble, her body losing all control as she came. When Hawke fell back to breathe heavily against the pillows, he removed his fingers from her and licked them clean. She’d practically flooded him with her excitement.

He moved up to kiss her again, and Hawke hummed against his lips. She could taste salt on his tongue, and flushed with the realization that it came from her.

Hawke was still riding high from her orgasm as she mumbled, “That was amazing.”

Fenris smirked, but the look faltered after a moment. “I didn’t hurt you?”

Hawke shook her head. “No. Quite the opposite, really,” she said with a lazy grin. “I should take care of you, though.”

His ears were red again. “That is not...necessary,” Fenris said, despite the almost painful erection that would imply otherwise. And despite the fact that he wanted her to.

She shook her head again, more fervently this time. “I want to do it, Fenris,” Hawke insisted, though her words remained gentle to encourage him. “If you’ll have me, I want to give this to you. To give my-myself to you.” To her credit, she managed to meet his eyes the entire time she spoke, despite the slight stumbling in her speech.

They kissed again, soft and reassuring. This was good. This was them together, on equal ground, for each other. There was no need for fear or hesitation. Both were fully prepared to stop the moment they were told to.

Hawke hooked her leg with his, forcing Fenris to roll over so she could climb atop him. She’d fantasized about this for so long; riding him until she came, clenching around his length. Their mouths did not part as they shifted, not even when their hands trailed down together to remove the last bit of cloth between them.

Fenris groaned. As soon as his cock was free from his smallclothes, Hawke’s fingers had wrapped around the shaft and started to tug gently. He could almost burst from her touch alone, were she not going so soft and slow.

“Sarah,” Fenris moaned as she moved her lips to the hollow of his throat and kissed him. Hawke kept moving, pressing kisses against his warm skin and watching the lyrium flare up beneath her touch.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

Fenris winced. They always hurt, even if it was just a light sting, but what she was doing distracted from any of the pain. He caught one of her hands and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“I’m alright,” Fenris promised.

Hawke almost asked again, just to be sure, but then his hips jerked against her hand. If the markings hurt, it wasn’t bad enough that they needed to stop.

Hawke positioned herself properly, legs straddling him. She ran the tips of her fingers over his chest, preparing herself for what came next. She’d heard many stories from gossiping women of sex being a painful experience, or of bleeding. Thus far, even having Fenris’ fingers curling within her had given only a moment of discomfort, stretching her hole wider to accommodate for them. But she wasn’t sure if being penetrated by his cock would be any different.

Fenris took one of her hands again and squeezed it. “Hawke…” he began.

But she didn’t want to stop this. She wanted him to feel good, and what was more, she ached to have him inside of her. To really join their bodies in a way she’d never done before, not with anyone else.

Hawke returned the squeeze of her hand and smiled, grinding her wetness against his balls. She only grinned wider when he moaned.

“I want this,” she assured him. “I want _you._ ”

Then she lifted herself, guiding his cock with her hand until she could sink down onto it. Her pussy clenched around him as the tip hit her innermost walls. Hawke bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping. There was a bit of an ache as she adjusted to the width, but she started to rock on top of him, and it slowly alleviated the pain.

She went slow at first, but as the pleasure took over her mind she picked up the pace. Hawke could hear him panting and calling her name. Beneath that was the repeated _slap_ of skin against skin. Their fingers were still intertwined, and they held onto each other tight. Hawke pressed her other palm against his hip once he started bucking to meet her, his movements too erratic against her set rhythm.

The warmth of Hawke against Fenris’ erection was bliss. He felt like fire, and knew he was glowing more than he meant to. But her muscles fluttered around his length and he moaned her name over and over like a prayer.

His whole body sang with this, and it was the closest he’d ever felt to divinity. The same could probably be said for Hawke, who alternated between gasping Fenris’ name and the Maker’s.

It might have been a minute, or thirty, or an hour before they came. It was too fast, too slow, too soon, and not soon enough. But when they peaked, it was perfection.

Hawke felt like one of her exploding arrows had fired off in her head. She fell against Fenris, going limp as she rode the last few waves of pleasure. They were both coated in a sheen of sweat, and Hawke found she simply did not care. She squeezed his fingers again, still holding his hand, then pecked his lips.

“Hey,” Hawke whispered.

Fenris breathed out slow. “Hello, Hawke,” he replied. It was a moment of utter euphoria, but Fenris felt his body overcome by sleepiness. He’d hardly rested in those five days that he’d been gone, and even this level of activity seemed capable of wearing him out.

Still, he moved his arms to wrap around her and kept Hawke close. Fenris never wanted to move from that spot. From her bed. He smelled the lavender oil in her hair and on her pillow and simply could not stop smiling. When was the last time he’d fallen asleep with a smile on his face? Fenris didn’t believe he’d _ever_ fallen asleep like that. He wondered if it was even possible.

Hawke slid him from her, breathing out again at that last pulling sensation. One look at his sleepy face, and she knew Fenris needed his rest. Maybe they would simply have to continue this in the morning. Or the next night. So long as he was willing, Hawke would go on like this forever.

She kissed his cheek, then nuzzled into his neck. “Fenris?” she whispered.

He only hummed in response, just barely awake.

“I wanted to give you something,” Hawke told him.

She parted for only a moment, to reach across to the table near her bed. The red ribbon she used for her hair was curled there. She pulled it over to them, a sudden plan in her head. Hawke took one of his arms and tied the ribbon around his wrist, finding that it was still long enough to be wound around a few times. She left it loose, so he’d be able to remove it when and if it became uncomfortable.

“I wanted something to remind you of me, even if we’re apart,” Hawke said. “Because I need you to know that I always stand with you, no matter what you’re facing. It’s okay to rely on me. If you need me...I want to know. But if for whatever reason I can’t be there...then you’ll have this.” She turned her head to look back at the table for a moment. “There’s a little shield with the Amell crest on it, too. I don’t know what you’d do with it but…”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, still sleepy. “I do not need anything more from you.”

“I want you to have it,” she insisted.

He smiled. Hawke’s eyes glimmered when she looked at him like that, the beginnings of a pout on her lips. There was no use in fighting it. “Alright, Hawke. Maybe I can...wear it, somehow.” Fenris would have to figure out the logic behind that when he was more awake.

Sarah nodded, satisfied, and curled back against him. She kept one leg over top of Fenris, though she mostly kept her weight off of his body so he could sleep comfortably. He refused to release her from his grasp once he had her back again, and Hawke was just fine with that.

As his eyes closed and Fenris drifted off, Hawke ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, pushing it back from his face. She’d always kind of wondered what he’d look like, with his hair like that. She noted the three little dots of lyrium on his forehead, that were usually well covered by his shaggy bangs. Hawke traced a line between them in a little triangle, but still it did not disturb his sleep. Fenris was out cold.

She giggled silently and snuggled up to him. Hawke could hear his heartbeat as her breathing evened out and her eyes closed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Images flashed faster than Fenris could process them. But he understood them. He knew them. They were...familiar.

 _Home,_ he thought, though he didn’t think he’d ever known a place he could call that. Danarius...the mansion...neither of those quite suited the word. But this place, these people…

His heart swelled in a way that hurt, twisting with remorse from all he had lost. He knew what he had to do, he knew what he’d done, and then—

Fenris woke up with tears in his eyes and a blank mind. No. _No!_ He’d seen it! He had seen the only place in his life he had ever called home and now he couldn’t even remember the color of the roof. There had been people too, hadn’t there?

He held his head with one hand, trying to recall...and then there was Hawke. His other arm was trapped part-way beneath her sleeping form. Last night had been…

Home. He almost felt it again with Hawke in his arms, her fingers pushing back his hair and her lips pressing to his cheek. But it still wasn’t all that he’d had, once.

Fenris was shattered, pieces of a person masquerading as a whole. He felt a sinking sensation in his gut as he watched Hawke, peaceful and unaware of the anxiety that built in him. He thought of how he’d lost those people, to the point where he couldn’t even remember them, and knew that if Danarius took Hawke from him too he’d have nothing. Fenris never should have allowed himself to remain so close.

It was a danger to him, to her. So long as Danarius hunted him, so long as his past haunted him with faceless ghosts, he was a broken shell. And she deserved more, didn’t she?

Fenris could not risk this. He pulled his arm free and was careful to let her sleep as he moved from her. He would be gone before she awoke. Maybe she’d pass it off as an odd dream. Or maybe he should leave a note to explain that this couldn’t go on.

_“I had no idea where you went. I thought…”_

Hawke had been so terrified when she found him in her foyer. Fenris knew he could not leave her behind again. If he ran, truly ran and found another place to hide, it would break him and hurt her. Perhaps it was the wisest thing to do, but Fenris had never claimed to be wise. And at the thought of being apart from Hawke forever…

_“I didn’t even know if I’d ever see you again.”_

Fenris would remain by her side, even if he could not be with her as he wanted. It tore at him to know, but there was so much he’d already lost. He could not lose this, too. Better if he simply never had it to begin with.

He paced in frustration as he pulled his clothes from the floor and onto his body. Fenris couldn’t remember a single thing, not one that his memory had summoned up in sleep. That deep sense of loss ate at him and crushed any hope he might have held.

Somewhere during his pacing, he noticed the ribbon, curled with the shield where he’d left it. Fenris had nearly forgotten her little gifts, tokens of her affections for him. It would be wrong to keep them, he thought, but worse still to leave them behind.

Fenris didn’t have it in him to stop himself from tying the ribbon back over his wrist, now a part of his armor. The shield looped easily with his belt, and stayed secure without being cumbersome.

He decided a note would not suffice. Fenris had to do this in person, to explain in no uncertain terms that this was… It would not happen again. He stoked a fire to warm the room, and waited until he heard the rustling of sheets.

✖✖✖✖✖

The bed was cold beside her. Hawke blinked her eyes open slowly as she remembered that this was, for once, something she should not have expected. She’d thought the previous night that she’d be able to see Fenris’ face first thing when she awoke. Instead she saw the same room she always did, with the same empty bed.

Hawke turned to her side, and breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Fenris, standing in front of the fire. He’d not left after all. Though he was fully clothed and there was something distant in the hunch of his back. Her jaw clenched.

“Fen?” Hawke said, her voice almost breaking. No, she couldn’t worry herself like this. She tried for a smirk and a joke. “Was it that bad?”

Fenris turned to face her. “I’m sorry, it’s not… It was fine,” he said.

Hawke tried and failed to not read too much into the dismissive nature of his tone. She gripped the sheets closer to her body, not thrilled at all with how exposed she was at the moment.

Fenris colored with concern at her reaction. “No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

The sincerity in his voice was convincing, but he would not meet her gaze. Hawke felt hairline fractures spread across her heart. Something was coming, and she knew it wasn’t what she wanted. If she could have stopped time, she might have then, while he was still there, still standing at her fireplace. She feared what would come if she allowed the minutes to keep passing.

“Was it the lyrium markings?” Hawke asked quietly. She couldn’t bear the thought that she’d hurt him unknowingly. Everything had been so peaceful when they fell asleep. Maybe she’d not been careful enough?

“It’s not that,” Fenris said. He sounded so tired. “I began to remember...my life before. Just flashes. It’s too much.” He was pacing, shaking his head. Finally he looked at Hawke again. “This is too fast I cannot...do this.”

Hawke tried to keep breathing steadily. The last thing she needed was for the both of them to be frantic and anxious. She spoke steadily, not ready to give up, “We can work through this, Fen. I’ll find a way to help you, if I can.”

“No,” Fenris said. His head was hung. There was no talking him out of this; his mind was made up. “I’m sorry. All I wanted was to be happy, just...for a little while.”

He started to leave, and Hawke scrambled to standing, still clutching the sheets to her body. If she let him walk out the door now...if she didn’t do _something—!_

“Fenris, please…”

But he didn’t stop. “Forgive me,” he said under his breath. And then he was gone.

Hawke didn’t cry at first. She dressed herself, almost numb from the world. She put on normal clothes, no armor, not today. She had no plans to go anywhere, so a blouse and trousers suited her fine. Hawke even planned to leave her bow behind for the day, dragging out her old daggers instead. She was glad, then, that she’d never sold them.

Orana and Bodahn had set up breakfast for the day, but Hawke rose her hand and insisted she didn’t want any. They asked about her friend, and she stiffened. They’d seen him leaving moments ago.

“Are you alright, messere?” Bodahn asked. “Perhaps I should get your mother…”

“No, Bodahn. It’s alright,” Hawke said. The last thing she wanted was to see her mother right now. She was trying to keep herself strong, and the sight of Leandra would reduce her to a little girl again, crying and falling into her mother’s arms.

Hermes nudged her hand, whining at her in sympathy. Hawke ruffled his ears.

“Why don’t you come along with me, boy? I think I could use a walk.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Varric had just finished breakfast when the door burst open. He instinctively reached for Bianca, but relaxed as Hawke’s mabari bounded towards him.

“Long time no see,” Varric said, accepting the excited slobbering. He managed to keep it off his jacket this time, at least, so he wouldn’t need to change. “Odd time to see you around, Hawke.”

Varric had a joke ready on his tongue when he really looked at Hawke. She’d been in such a foul mood since the slaver caves and the whole mess with Fenris but this… Something was even more wrong than it had been the past few days. “Whose ass do I need to kick?” he asked immediately.

“No one’s,” Hawke said, her voice breaking. She’d made it all the way to the Hanged Man without a tear, but the first word to Varric and the bough broke.

Hawke collapsed onto a chair and pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stop what was already too much for her. Varric hurried to shut the door. Hawke deserved enough privacy to not be seen in this state, and it wouldn’t do any good for her reputation, besides. Hermes started a soft howl, but Varric shushed him so they wouldn’t draw even more attention. The mabari understood, and opted to just place his head on her lap, still whining.

Varric patted her back gently as she let it out, waiting until she seemed ready to speak. “You wanna tell me what happened to make you come to my room sobbing first thing in the morning?” Varric said, trying to keep his tone light and humorous. Though there was clearly nothing funny about this.

So Hawke filled him in, speaking slowly and breaking every time she got too choked up to speak. Varric had never once seen her like this. Even times that she got emotional about her sister, or those couple of nights where she’d gotten drunk and started crying over her father and brother again, it was nowhere near this. She’d never come to Varric first thing for those heartbreaks. Those were old hurts, consoled first by family. This wound, on the other hand, was fresh.

Damned elf. Oh sure, Fenris had his reasons, but all Varric saw was a broken-hearted Hawke crying in his room. As if Anders’ drama hadn’t been enough for the poor girl. Varric knew better than to voice this frustration out loud. Hawke would just end up defending Fenris until her face turned blue, and he really didn’t want to put her in that position where she felt she needed to.

But there was a more pressing matter that occurred to Varric. “Not to add to your problems or anything but...did you do anything to _prepare_ for that sort of thing?”

Hawke made a face. “Prepare for what? Him leaving?” she said with mild offense.

“No, no. I mean, you know the whole birds and the bees thing, right? If the two of you got all tangled up together… I can’t believe I’m having this talk with you but, you know that can result in you getting pregnant, right?”

Apparently it _hadn’t_ crossed her mind, or not enough to stick. Varric didn’t blame her, with everything else that had been going on with the elf, but the way she paled meant it was a major concern. At least the horror stopped her tears.

“Maker, Varric, I can’t get—! I don’t even _want_ kids! Probably not ever!” Hawke said. She ran a hand through her hair. “What do I do if…and I would have to tell him…”

“Calm down, Hawke. Just breathe. I asked because there is something that can still be done, but you’ll have to take it as soon as possible. I don’t have any here, but Anders should—”

“He can’t know,” Hawke said. “Anders cannot know about this. He’ll just use it as another reason to hate F...to hate him.”

She was having trouble even saying his name. The elf had really done a number on her.

“Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him and ask for what we need. Just come with me and wait outside the clinic, and I’ll bring it to you,” Varric said, already getting Bianca and some supplies together for a trip to Darktown. Hawke was hardly prepared for a run-in with any gangs, with her old daggers, no armor, and her mind in an unfit state. Varric and Hermes would have to work double time beside her.

“Thank you, Varric,” she mumbled.

“It’ll be alright, Hawke,” Varric said, though he honestly wasn’t sure of that himself. She just needed to hear it. He knew from experience. “It’ll be alright.”

He realized on the way out that Isabela might have what they needed, but there was no telling where the pirate had ended up sleeping last night or with who. Varric was attentive enough to have seen the way she and Merrill were “getting along” lately, but that was no guarantee of her being in the Alienage. Plus, Hawke really didn’t need to feel like a sideshow right now, and Isabela’s stock was always likely to run out.

Darktown was blessedly quiet at this hour. Apparently, illegal activity was best done at night, even in the Undercity, where it was already dark. They reached the clinic without any problems, though Varric had to remember the exact instructions for getting around Anders’ wards when he needed to.

“I thought hiring the muscle was meant to stop the need for this kind of thing?” Varric said, stepping with care towards the door.

“Tyr needs to sleep sometimes, too,” Hawke whispered. She didn’t want her voice to be heard, just in case Anders was awake already. He was a late riser like she was, most of the time. “Besides, extra precaution can’t hurt.” Her melancholy expression twinged with a bit of guilt. Caution of any kind had gone by the wayside, in her case.

“Hawke, it’s alright,” Varric said, his voice lowered. “These kinds of things happen. You haven’t done anything wrong by letting it slip your mind.”

She still disagreed, that much was clear from the way she chewed her lip, but she nodded and urged him to go inside. The sooner this task was done with, the better.

Anders was indeed awake, with a very happy Ser Pounce running between his legs and purring loudly. With a kitten to care for, Anders rose when the cat meowed loud enough to rouse him in a demand for food. Judging by the circles under the mage’s eyes, he’d not readjusted to the lifestyle just yet.

“Varric? What are you doing here so early?” Anders asked through a yawn.

“I’ve got a bit of an emergency. Or, well, a friend does. She forgot to have some Witherstalk sap on hand when her beau was coming over for the night and, well, she’s scared witless that she could soon be in a family way,” Varric said.

Anders raised a brow. “Oh really? Just a random mystery beau and your ‘friend?’ If you’ve actually got something of a love life, I’d like to think we’re friendly enough that you can be honest with me.”

Varric pressed his lips together. “It’s not like that, really. She’s just a friend, she’s in a bind, can you please do the wonderboy clinic thing now, Blondie?”

Anders laughed a little. “Alright, but if you want a little extra for a lady friend…”

“Really not necessary,” Varric groaned. The only person he’d even consider mentioning details of his love life to was Hawke, and even then he’d kept quiet about it so far. It was better that way, safer for everyone involved. Plus things that Hawke knew had the bad tendency of getting out to the rest of her friends.

“She’ll need to take it pretty much as soon as it’s done, if she wants it to work. You should go back and bring her here,” Anders said.

“No need, she’s just outside. ” Varric insisted. He dropped his voice to a whisper, putting a hand up to his mouth and leaning close to make sure Anders could hear. “The whole thing is a bit of an embarrassment for her, so she didn’t want you to see her in person. She’s been here before for some illness a while back, and worried you’d recognize her. I told her she was being ridiculous, with the number of people who come through the clinic, but she was determined to stay out there.”

Anders just shrugged, and Varric cursed him for the waste of a decent story. Any lie probably would have suited the mage. At least Hawke’s secret was safe.

Anders prepared the Witherstalk sap, mixing it into a drink so it would work as a potion. He corked the bottle he’d used and handed it to Varric, and it seemed like it would be smooth sailing until a voice came from outside.

“Hawke? What are you doing here? Anders is in there, if you’re looking for him.” The mercenary was at the door. “Could you get rid of the traps here? They’re a little hard to maneuver over with all these supplies!”

Anders rolled his eyes, but seemed to be smiling a little. Good news, those two were getting along better. Bad news, Hawke was kind of busted. Varric tried to work up a story quickly.

“Honestly, we’ve been over the pattern thousands of times. I even simplified it. _Varric_ got over it well enough,” Anders said, waving his hands to dispel the cluster of runes that protected his work and home. “Hawke, come on in. You don’t need to wait…” Then it clicked. “...outside.”

Anders’ eyes opened wide, staring at the very sheepish Hawke that scuttled through the doorway behind Tyr. Then Anders turned to Varric, a flash of anger crossing in between his concern. “No.”

Hawke tried to calm him before he could really work himself up. “Anders, please—”

“He came back? He came back after days of you pining and hurting and you just decide ‘hey, no problem,’ and take him to _bed_ with you?” Anders said.

Tyr hurried to put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. He gestured to Hawke. “Anders, look at her. Really look at her,” the mercenary urged.

Varric brought the potion bottle to Hawke so she could at least get that awful part of this mess done with. He whispered to her the side effects he remembered might accompany such a mixture, and Hawke thanked him quietly. Anders watched this exchange, studying Hawke’s uncharacteristically small posture and the tear tracks left beneath her red eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” Anders asked, unable to quell the rage. There were small bruises on Hawke’s neck, too. If it were anyone but Fenris he’d just pass them off as lovebites, but...

“No,” Hawke said, quick as she could. “He didn’t… It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I swear to the Maker, if I find out that _beast_ hurt you in any way…”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Hawke shouted. She rubbed her eyes furiously, her broken heart betraying her and making her cry again. “He’s nothing like that! He just...we just… It was too much. He decided he...didn’t want me.”

Varric helped her move somewhere to sit. Hermes trailed behind her, pressing to her legs in an effort to comfort her again. Anders stood silent, trying very hard to relax his body and keep Justice from raising his temper further. It wasn’t helping Hawke. She’d already been through a lot with Fenris, and Anders did not want to be the cause of more pain.

Tyr helped him through it, then gave Anders a moment to breathe alone and process. He could hear them begin to speak; Tyr offered some comfort to Hawke as he was able.

“He said he was sorry,” Hawke said, while Anders acted like he was just trying to find Ser Pounce-a-Lot II. “It was like he’d just given up. On everything.”

“Did he explain why?” Tyr asked.

Varric shifted from foot to foot. No one should be forcing Hawke to talk about this, but on the other hand, maybe it would help. At the very least, it would distract from the queasy feeling the potion she’d taken was bound to give her.

“Yes but...I’m not sure I really understand,” Hawke admitted. “He said something about remembering his past, but not fully? I was scared that I’d done something wrong but… What if he leaves now? After all that he could just…”

“I doubt he’ll go anywhere, Hawke,” Varric said, but not even he was a convincing enough liar to sell that. He honestly had no clue what Fenris would plan to do, after this disaster. With Anders and Hawke’s other protective friends around, maybe skipping town for a while wasn’t even a bad idea. But Hawke deserved better than to be abandoned like that.

Sarah was working through another heaving sob when it struck her. “Fuck, I think...I think I’m in _love_ with Fenris.”

Anders froze in place. It was obvious to anyone who knew her really, but hearing her say it out loud just brought it to reality that much more. Varric noted that it was the first time she’d been able to say his name with such ease, that morning.

“I don’t want to be,” she said. “I don’t want to. Not when this is...not now that it’s all gone wrong!”

Varric patted her shoulder. “Shh, Hawke. Feelings can suck a lot, but this shouldn’t have to. You just need to try to fight for the happiness it gave you before. Maybe...maybe the elf just needs time. This doesn’t have to be the absolute end.”

“I offered to help. I said we could get through it together but he still left, Varric. If that doesn’t mean it’s over then...what does it mean?”

“It means this is the hard part,” Varric said. “The part where you decide whether you want to hold onto the way you feel now, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how hard it might make it to keep going, or if you want to leave it behind and start over. That is still an option. And you don’t need to decide right now. Voids, you don’t even need to decide next month!

“You carried a torch for the elf for three sodding years. It’s bound to hurt, some. But you have to decide when you’ve had enough. Giving up on your feelings isn’t...it isn’t weakness.” Varric dropped his eyes to the ground. “Sometimes it’s just doing what you need to to protect your heart.”

Hawke sensed this was no longer strictly about herself and Fenris. Before she could think better of it, she reached out and pulled Varric in to hug him. She could really use the contact, and by the looks of things he needed it, too. He chuckled as Hawke crushed him to her, mumbling something about not wanting tear stains on his coat.

Anders finally found the power in his legs to march over. While he’d been pretending to look for Pounce, he had actually found the cat, who purred contentedly in his arms. Anders scooted into the little circle that had assembled and sat by Hawke, offering the kitten’s soft, warm head to pat. That finally got her to crack a smile, and she scratched under Ser Pounce’s chin, as she had learned he liked.

“I’m sorry for getting worked up like that,” Anders said at last. “It’s just… You’ll always be important to me, Hawke. I don’t want to have to watch someone mistreating you. I understand you trust him, but I’m not sure I ever can.”

Hawke nodded, though her expression returned to something more neutral. “I know,” was all she said. Before long Varric was helping her to a bucket to puke—another unfortunate side effect of the witherstalk sap when it was mixed to be used after the fact. Taking it beforehand was really the better choice in terms of avoiding both the puking and the panic. Beggars just couldn’t be choosers.

Soon after that, Varric saw Hawke home. He’d make sure she ate something and took care of herself. Anders trusted the dwarf to look after her.

Tyr took the place beside Anders where Hawke had been before. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Still furious,” Anders confessed. “It’s going to be hard to resist trying to knock his teeth in or curse him if I ever see him again. If she were a mage like her sister, he’d probably not even consider her a person. Hawke might have even been better off, in that case.”

Tyr sighed. “You could be right, but I don’t really know this Fenris guy, so…” He shrugged. “But I do know you. Don’t let your own attachment get in the way of seeing clearly.”

Anders gave him a withering stare. “I’m not.”

“Of course,” Tyr said, though it was clear how much he wasn’t convinced of that. “Just keep it in mind when you start to get angry like that. I say that from experience.”

Anders dropped his head into his hands. This was the last thing he’d expected to happen this morning. Hawke had actually _slept_ with Fenris, and he’d turned around and left her the morning after! Regardless of what Anders had thought of the elf, he’d at least believed that the affection for Hawke had been genuine. He wasn’t sure, anymore, and the thought was part of why he was so upset.

Tyr’s hand rubbed circles on his back, which...helped. A lot. Anders didn’t really want to admit it, since that would risk another lecture from Justice about distractions, but he was grateful to have the mercenary there anyway. He might have made things worse, before, had Tyr not been there to calm him down.

“Thank you,” Anders muttered. Tyr simply grunted in response.

✖✖✖✖✖

When she finally caved into returning to her room that night, Hawke noticed how her sheets still smelled like him. It was faint, but one who knew it as intimately as Hawke now did could recognize it. It was dirt and sweat, but with some unknown spice that laid beneath the other aromas. She theorized that it must have been from things in the mansion that stuck to his clothes.

Hawke liked this smell, though her stomach churned as she lied down and took it in. Most of that was just from the mixture she’d taken that morning, still making its way out of her body. But it was also due to the way she ached from the thought of him. From the knowledge that he'd been here, been hers just for a short while, before he'd been gone again.

Varric had been convinced that he would remain in Kirkwall, despite the fact that Fenris made no promises to do so. If he decided to go, Hawke told herself she wouldn't ask him to stay. Like she even had the right. Hawke knew she was lying, because it tore her insides apart just to imagine him gone.

She could have asked Bodahn to change the sheets and wash these ones, but she didn't. It seemed unfair to bother him or even Orana so late in the evening. If she were honest, Hawke would also acknowledge that even as every reminder of him hurt, it was also partially a comfort. Enough that it tipped the scale from her sadness to leave her slightly more numb. That was easier to sleep with.

So Hawke stripped to her smalls and fell against her pillows. Eventually she would be rid of this feeling (she swore it in her head again and again like she might convince herself of it) and she would return to her regular jovial self. Change the sheets, smile, move on. For now, Varric had put it best: “You are allowed to wallow. It’s only natural that you do.”

Hawke didn’t really _want_ to wallow, but she already was in the process of doing it and couldn't really stop, anyhow. She listened to Varric instead of fighting it, and sunk into the bad feelings just enough to acknowledge their existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~What’s with this long as fuck chapter, man?~~
> 
>  
> 
> It’s not fair that just when they get together I have to make them break up. Not fair I say!
> 
> Also in case you didn’t know, the witherstalk thing is [based on a specific interpretation of canon!](http://theramblinggirl.tumblr.com/post/149255772714/about-that-anon-who-asked-about-contraceptives-in) So it’s sort of actually accurate to the lore! Probably doesn’t work as a Plan B the way I did it, but you know what I just don’t care.


	25. Picking Up the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, I am catching up on my backlog, and I will try to write more again consistently, but there may be an upcoming hiatus because I've been working and writing other things. So I will keep you guys updated but for now just enjoy this week's upload!

Fenris was bad at this. He’d spent the first few minutes deciding on whether or not the Maker preferred those who sat or those who kneeled, and he kept feeling the eyes of the Chantry sisters scrutinizing him. He had even gone through the trouble of dragging out some dusty coat the mansion’s previous owner had left behind, in some effort to cover his markings better. It was the one time being from Tevinter worked in his favor, as Fenris didn’t mind the additional heat.

It wasn’t long before the familiar lilting accent of one Sebastian Vael could be heard, approaching in shock. “Fenris? It really is you! What brings you before the Maker, my friend?” he asked, those kind blue eyes twinkling. “Have you spoken to Hawke? Last time I heard from her she was concerned about your whereabouts.”

“I...yes,” Fenris said. Some secret part of him had hoped to run into the handsome Chantry brother. Sebastian knew Hawke well from all their time training together and, as a brother, would probably be better at dealing with moral quandaries.

Fenris just wasn’t certain how Sebastian would respond to what he had done. He should not have initiated things with Hawke. He should have just left when he’d intended to. He shouldn’t have let her convince him to stay. Why had he stayed?

This was his fault. Hawke no longer visited with a smile on her face. The one time she’d gone to ask him for help was only because Aveline was busy. And she hadn’t even gone to the mansion herself. Varric had gathered him instead, and when Fenris met with Hawke they could barely look at each other. Anders had been with them, as well, and seethed the entire time. Which meant he knew. They all did.

With the mage being so defensive of Hawke, Fenris remembered the other man’s feelings for her. Did he still harbour them? Perhaps it would be better if she forgot Fenris. If Anders could make Hawke happy, who was he to stop them?  
But the thought scraped a hole in his chest.

“If you don’t mind my saying, you appear to be rather upset about something. Has something happened with the magister who’s chasing you?” Sebastian said.

They’d spoken enough now that even he knew Fenris’ story. Talking to Sebastian was almost as easy as talking to Hawke, or even Isabela. It was unexpected. He did not condescend or turn his nose up at others. He could be almost obnoxiously optimistic, at times, but Fenris even appreciated that to an extent. He needed Sebastian’s sunniness to escape the gloom. Maybe that was the real reason his feet had carried him up the Chantry steps.

“His student Hadriana is dead,” Fenris said, because of the mention of Danarius. It wasn’t entirely unconnected. He’d hurt Hawke then, also, and still she was understanding and kind. Could anything stop her? Would nothing about him frighten her away?

“I take it you didn’t like this person,” Sebastian said, finally sitting down beside Fenris. This was not a light-hearted chat, nor would it be short. He leaned in close so they could speak in hushed tones, keeping their secrets safe between one another.

“I crushed her heart myself,” Fenris said, with grotesque satisfaction. He couldn’t say he regretted her death, not even now, but that his anger had overpowered him…

Sebastian exhaled slowly. “And this bothers you?”

_Yes. No. Does it matter?_

“...yes,” Fenris finally admitted. “But that isn’t...why I’m here.”

Sebastian waited silently for Fenris to continue speaking. Sometimes this drove Fenris up a wall, but on the other hand, Sebastian was never forcing him to speak. He did not ask invasive questions or press on wounds until they reopened before him. He just waited, and let Fenris decide what he wanted to share. Which is why Fenris felt safe enough to actually tell the truth.

“I hurt Hawke,” was all he could think to say. It was true, after all. It was his fault she’d looked more tired than usual. His fault she watched him when she didn’t think he could see her, her brow creased with conflict.

Sebastian swallowed. “What happened between you two?”

“I was gone for a while. When I came back it… She was there and I didn’t want to let go. It was meant to be something that was mine. I just wanted to be happy. Hawke made me happy, and then…” Fenris snarled at himself, pushing his fingers hard through his hair. “We...slept together.”

Sebastian’s eyes actually widened. “You and Hawke?”

Fenris nodded.

“Oh.” Sebastian, despite his history of debauchery as the spoiled young prince of Starkhaven, colored a bit.

Fenris couldn't help but wonder if it was more because he was involved, or Hawke.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy it?”

Now it was Fenris’ turn to blush. He wished Isabela had never pointed out how the blood always rose to his ears first, because now he could feel them burning.

“Yes,” Fenris said, and the answer would have to suffice, as that was all he could manage to choke out on the subject.

He still hadn't stopped thinking of just how soft she had been. Every inch of her was smooth, warm, and tender. He'd even traced his fingers down the scar that crossed her belly, from that fight with the profane so long ago. It was naught but a pale jagged line, now, and Hawke's sweet sighs had been reminders of just how alive she was.

If Fenris did not stop remembering these things, it would become far more awkward than the moment had already grown. He cleared his throat. “That is not the point,” Fenris said sharply. “I have...hurt her.”

Sebastian's brows raised, but again he waited for Fenris to say more. So he told the Chantry brother what had happened, minus a few private details ( _she said his name like one of her songs when he touched her skin_ ). Sebastian nodded and hummed every so often, as if to prove he'd been listening.

“You did not mean to hurt her,” was his first response. But Fenris only grimaced, so he reworked his strategy, somewhat. “Am I right in saying that you still have feelings for Hawke?”

It wasn't something Fenris wanted to admit to, but to lie about it felt like it would be one of the greatest sins he'd ever committed. And he did not have clean hands. So he nodded, though the tension would not leave him.

“Then, can I ask why you are holding back?” Sebastian said.

It seemed pointless to ask permission for a question he'd gone ahead and voiced anyway. It was still more effort to be kind than Fenris was used to.

“I am...not what she thinks. What she wants or deserves. And my life is already in pieces. To lose her...to cause her more pain than I already have…” His jaw was set tight. “No. I won't allow that.”

Sebastian watched, parsing this information. “It sounds to me, if I may be so bold, that you fear losing Hawke as you have lost your memories. Is that accurate to say?”

Fenris gave another terse nod. He didn't feel up to looking at Sebastian, for the moment. “Hadriana told me— I have a sister. In Qarinus. She is...free, if she truly exists. I am no fool. I know it could be one of Danarius’ traps but…”

“You want to search for her,” Sebastian said when Fenris had trailed off.

Fenris clenched his fists, the heels of his palms digging into his knees. “It would need to be done with care. Were I to draw the attention of the wrong person, I might as well be inviting Danarius to Kirkwall myself.”

“To Kirkwall?” Sebastian noted. “You mean you're staying here? Not going to Tevinter to search in person?”

“Do I _look_ like I have a death wish?!” Fenris shouted, but hunched down and quieted at the attention he'd drawn. “No, I…I know of people I can contact. There are ways to search without returning.”

Surely that was Danarius’ true game; send Hadriana to either drag him back or taunt him with the knowledge of his sister. As soon as Fenris knew, Danarius would expect him to go to Qarinus. No matter where he went, Fenris stuck out like a sore thumb thanks to the damned markings. He'd be captured in no time, no matter how skilled he was with a blade.

But Danarius was expecting Fenris to still be alone. That was his error. Perhaps he wasn't ready to draft letters on his own, but he had always been a quick study. For now he could devote himself to becoming literate. Mercenary contacts who ran between Tevinter and the Free Marches could investigate, but it was difficult to know who would not easily be bought out upon arrival. No, he would not trust a stranger with this task. It would be long and difficult, but Fenris had to try. He'd always be broken if he didn't.

“Perhaps if…if I find her, then…” Fenris couldn't finish the thought aloud. If he gave it a voice, he'd have hope. If he had hope, he could be disappointed. Still, in a place set deep in his heart, he wanted to believe that finding his past would make it easier to pave the way for his future. If Hawke was still willing, maybe he would try again.

But he didn't dare hope.

“I think that's a wonderful idea, Fenris. Searching for this lost family could lead to a better understanding of who you were before Danarius and the markings. Family is one of the most important parts of a person’s life, after all. If I could have even one more day with my own sister…” Sebastian trailed off, his blue eyes distant as he stared up at the golden statue of Andraste. Yes, if anyone knew why Fenris needed to do this, it was Sebastian.

Then the former prince shook his head, turning his gaze back to Fenris. “If I may offer one last piece of advice: I know you have the tendency to run, but do not run from Hawke. She has such strong feelings for you, and you about her, and I’d hate to see either of you hurting for too long. So even if you can’t be with her, be there for her. Support her when she needs it. Do what you can to remind her that you really do care about her, even if a relationship is too difficult.”

Fenris managed a nod, though his ears tingled again. As if he could leave her now. As if he was capable of tearing himself away. No, he didn't have the willpower. Even if he did, Fenris wouldn't want it.

Though he would make certain that he did not rely on her so much, anymore. Perhaps Varric would be a better option for his reading lessons. The dwarf was an author, after all.

“You're looking rather intently at that bit of red cloth,” Sebastian said.

Fenris pulled his arm back from his face with a start. _Shit._ He’d gotten in the habit of lifting that ribbon to his face when he missed her. The smell of her lavender oil was a comfort, like she was there. He quietly dreaded the day it would no longer smell of her. For the moment, his concern was more focused on the fact that he'd been caught sniffing at it.

“It is nothing. Do not concern yourself with it,” Fenris said. He stood, then. Sebastian had been right about his habit of running. It was high time that he broke that, but not in this case. This moment was a perfectly appropriate one to flee. “I will consider what you said.”

✖✖✖✖✖

“So, you and Fenris,” Isabela began.

Hawke was less fun when she was mopey. Even drunk she just got sadder. It was really killing Isabela’s mood.

Well, and she was concerned for her friend. Not that she’d ever admit to it. “You know what they say about a man who’s been in chains.”

Hawke instantly tensed. “Don't.”

“What? Come on, at least let me get to the punchline.”

“I mean it, Iz. I'm not in the mood,” Hawke insisted.

Isabela groaned. “You haven't been in the mood for days now! Usually you at least hear me out before you lecture me about it being in poor taste or something. It wasn't even going where you thought. Maker’s balls, Hawke, you used to be _fun._ ”

Isabela knew the moment she went too far. Varric’s stare of disapproval only served to reinforce her instinct. But she wasn't going to take it back. Harsh or not, someone or something had to force Hawke out of this funk.

“You never did tell me exactly what happened, you know,” Isabela said, taking a sip of whiskey. She hadn’t been in the mood for ale. “Even what I do know I just heard from Varric.”

“I really don't want to talk about it,” Hawke mumbled.

“Aren't you the one who goes on and on about how talking it out will make you feel better?” Isabela argued. Really she was just curious.

The way Fenris had stared with those big puppy eyes of his the other day was simply pathetic. Clearly neither of them was over the attraction, so something else had happened. A forbidden tryst with Anders? Shouting the wrong name between sheets? An unfortunate and odd kink? Isabela had to know!

“Yeah well, maybe I just want to feel shitty for now,” Hawke said, though she hardly looked as if she believed it.

“Because that makes sense. Like anyone would choose to feel terrible when they have the much better option of feeling literally anything else,” Isabela scoffed. “If you can't even be happy about the sex, than what was the point?”

Hawke gave a long-weary sigh. “You want to hear about the sex?”

Isabela was impressed by how smoothly Hawke said it. She still blushed faintly, but that was at least 50% the fault of the alcohol.

“Yes please,” Isabela purred.

“Nothing else?”

“Hawke, the sex is the best part. Why would I want to hear about anything else?” She fluttered her lashes innocently.

To her surprise and her delight, Hawke agreed. “Sex with Fenris was like...finding pieces of myself in someone else that I never knew were there. Every time he touched me was like my senses were reawakened. And Maker, the things he can do with his tongue…”

Varric made himself scarce for a while so Hawke could go through every detail. Isabela actually cheered out loud when Hawke told her she had been on top. It was nice to see her smiling about the night, rather than sitting around all defeated. The end of it shouldn't have ever taken away what was special about the rest. Especially because Fenris had been Hawke’s first.

“And you know, I think his markings made it different. Like he could somehow make everything just...tingle,” Hawke said dreamily.

“Ooh, so he _did_ take my advice on the magical fisty thing,” Isabela said. “Good for him!”

“Well, no, it wasn't ever on purpose. Honestly my first thought when I woke up was that somehow what we’d done had managed to hurt him even more, but—”

And it was right back to sad. It had been nice while it lasted. “You still got to sleep with him,” Isabela said.

Hawke snorted. “Yeah, cause that was all I wanted. That's the only thing that matters. That we fucked.”

Goodness, but couldn't she be cranky. “You know that wasn't what I meant,” Isabela said, “even though that is my personal philosophy. Less risky when all that's at stake is an orgasm or two. If you're lucky, even more than that.”

“Really? So you and Merrill? That's just about the sex?” Hawke said.

“Yup. We talked about it, mind you. I'm not heartless enough to take advantage of her, in case that's what you were going to say,” Isabela said, with more hostility than intended.

Hawke’s brows rose. “I wasn't going to… I actually thought maybe it was different with her. I mean, she isn't just anyone. She’s _Merrill,_ for Andraste’s sake.”

“Indeed she is. And she is very talented with her hands,” Isabela said.

“ _Augh,_ no! Hearing about her is like hearing about my sister!” Hawke said through a laugh.

Isabela grinned at her success. She even glanced at Varric who returned moments ago, silently gloating because his own efforts had mostly been failures. “Oh yes, and how is Bethany? Have I mentioned how much I miss the sight of her perfect breasts lately?”

“Stop!” Hawke was grinning. “And if any Hawke has perfect breasts, it’s me.”

“No argument here,” Isabela said. Mission accomplished, for now. Hawke seemed more her regular peppy self for a bit. Varric even bought Isabela a refill on her drink for it. Not that she’d asked for the reward, but she would never complain about free booze.

But a few more drinks in, Hawke got weepy again. Incoherent weepy, to boot. Isabela managed to drag Hawke back through Hightown, saluting Aveline’s guards as they passed a patrol. It was the least she could do for the poor girl. And she meant that quite literally. _Feelings_ were not Isabela’s strong point in terms of advice. Usually if a man did you wrong, her advice could be summarized as “stab him.”

Leandra was still up reading when Isabela got Hawke home. The pirate grinned. Leandra had one of the books Isabela recommended, which was of course filthy and made Hawke blush when she’d read aloud from a passage or two. (How else was Isabela supposed to educate Hawke on the finer techniques of sex?)

But momma Hawke’s face fell at the sight of her half-asleep and full-drunk daughter. “For Andraste’s sake… She’s been so out of sorts lately, I suppose I should have expected this.” She placed her book down, leaving the pages spread open to keep her place. “Help me get her upstairs and into bed, won’t you?”

“Aye, aye!” Isabela said, which earned a groan from the sleepy lump that was Hawke.

They got her tucked away rather quickly, especially considering how Hawke had dragged her feet as they went. Leandra told Hawke to change before she fell asleep, then shut the door behind her. Isabela put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She doubted Hawke would move an inch.

“Thank you, Isabela. While I’m sure you encouraged the drinking, you also took care of her by bringing her here,” Leandra said.

“Oh, well, you know. I lost the coin toss tonight,” Isabela said with a shrug.

Leandra shook her head. She had that little smirk that showed she didn’t really buy Isabela’s fake detachment. That didn’t mean for a moment that Isabela would drop the act, but it was sort of comforting in the least comfortable of ways.

She could still do her thing, pretend not to care, but in the end Leandra would never judge her for it. But she also didn’t demand an explanation. Isabela never had to open up more. Sometimes, though she tried to deny it, Isabela hoped Leandra would mention it.

“I’m just glad you helped her have some fun tonight,” Leandra said. “Something has been bothering her lately, but she just refuses to talk about it with me. I’m pretty sure it has to do with that elven boy she spends time with. I’m hardly blind. I know there’s something going on there, or was. But I guess as her mother she doesn’t want to tell me about her love life.”

“Oh well, you know,” Isabela said. She shifted her gaze to the fireplace. “Hawke only _barely_ opened up to me. But I’m sure she’ll spring back in no time!”

Leandra raised a brow, but after a moment, she relented with a sigh. “I’m sure she’ll talk to me once she’s gotten over this hump.” (Isabela had to try very, very hard not to snort at that. It wasn’t Leandra’s fault her mind was permanently in the gutter.) “I just worry. We’re all each other has anymore. My boy is gone and Bethany is in the Circle… I don’t want Sarah to feel like she can’t talk to her mother about these things as much as she does with her friends.”

Isabela was cursing internally at a rapid pace. She did not do the feelings thing! Didn’t Leandra get that? She tried to contemplate what Varric might do. He seemed better at consolement. Isabela’s job was to act the distraction.

But then Leandra laughed a little, and the tension left Isabela’s body.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, brushing back a few loose strands of gray hair. “Maker, but I need more friends in this town. Otherwise I’ll end up unloading on my daughter’s friends like this more and more, and I hardly think Sarah would appreciate that.”

“Maybe you should even start dating,” Isabela suggested. “Then you could hide your love life from _Hawke_ instead.”

Leandra chuckled again. “At my age?”

“Oh, Leandra,” Isabela said dramatically, “of course! If I didn’t think Hawke would attempt to kill me I would chase after you myself. Total MILF material.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what that means,” Leandra said. “But thank you. You’ve been good to Hawke.”

“Hardly,” Isabela said. “I just show up when she needs someone to do some stabbing.”

Leandra didn’t press any more, for which Isabela was eternally grateful. If Leandra knew half the secrets Isabela had kept, her head would spin. And if she knew that some of those secrets endangered not only her daughter, but all of Kirkwall…

There were other things to think about, however. Like how she’d just spent the entire night fixing Fenris’ mistake. How could he have been so head over heels and switch to a cold bastard in an instant?! Hawke said something about memories or bad dreams or what have you, but Isabela hadn’t really listened. Whatever his excuse, he had left Isabela to comfort poor Hawke.

Her frustration lead her straight to the mansion, which she entered without a moment of hesitation. It was really quite impressive that Fenris hadn’t run into burglars or other squatters. Not that he wouldn’t promptly chase them out, but he didn’t even have a proper lock for the front door. Which—while it helped Isabela save on lockpicks—could not be safe.

At least it made it easy to stroll up the stairs of his place and demand his attention. Isabela swung open the door without introducing herself. “I hope you’re decent, Fenny. I need to have a word with you about morning-after etiquette.”  
He was awake, and dressed (damn), but sat at a desk with a daze in his eyes and a bundle of red fabric around his wrist. He had it by his face, like he’d been casually taking a whiff.

When he turned, startled and on the verge of furious, Isabela grinned. Fenris even had a shield with that crest from Hawke’s house on his hip. She’d not seen that before, and she now recognized the ribbon, part of which had been donated for a bow to put on Merrill’s wooden halla. The same one Hawke always wore in her hair.

“I hope I’m interrupting something,” Isabela teased.

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Fenris cursed. “Get out. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, I just wanted to let you know I made sure Hawke got home safe. She’s still pretty broken up, you know. And I had to do the responsible thing and cheer her up with dirty pirate stories! It was only kind of fun, you know,” Isabela said.  
He’d flinched at her name. Actually physically flinched. There was a long moment of silence after that, before he finally spoke up. “I am glad you took her home. Now leave,” he said.

Isabela crossed her arms. “Why the sudden change? I mean, most men are scum, don’t get me wrong, but I honestly would not have guessed you were the type.”

“It is none of your concern,” Fenris said, fixing her with a cool glare. “Leave.”

Isabela took another look down at the ribbon on his wrist. “Alright, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”

“It really does not seem that way,” Fenris grumbled.

“Ugh, you and your _moods._ ” Isabela rolled her eyes. She had no idea what she thought she would accomplish by going there. “Goodnight, Fenris! Take care not to get that ribbon wet. Might wash away the smell.”  
Isabela didn’t even have to glance back to know that he was blushing.

“ _Kaffas._ ”


	26. Losing Our Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders chapter! Plus I’ve got some updated images of Tyr because I just started using that run of Hawke for DAI a little while ago. [So here](https://imgur.com/u7O6YOh) [is my](https://imgur.com/ZEZKLGW) [handsome boy!](https://imgur.com/qYDtgQF)

“Are you sure you want to get Hawke to help with this?” Tyr asked.

Anders had been pacing for almost a half an hour, now. “I can’t just take you. Maker only knows how many templars will be down there guarding the place. One step too close to one of them and I’m automatically out of commission. Then you’re there, worrying about not only yourself, but me as well. I don’t…” He growled a little through his huffing. “I don’t know anyone else I would trust with this.”

“I know she’s trustworthy. But is she alright?” Tyr said. “You said she was still recovering.”

“She’s a lot better, now. Trust me, if there were a way not to involve her, I would. If she gets too close to the rebellion, it could just endanger her.”

“Anders. I know that. But is she _alright?_ ”

Anders paused. “I don’t know. That bastard really broke her heart. Sometimes I wish I could just...just…!” His eyes flashed bright with energy for a moment, until he breathed deeply to calm himself again. “This is bigger than personal problems. I can’t allow my emotions to get in the way of what needs to be done.”

“Is that you talking, or him?” Tyr said.

Anders clenched his jaw. “I’ve told you, we’re—”

“One and the same. I know. But you and he should both know repressing your emotions isn’t going to help you much at all.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but repressing them is one of many things I am very bad at,” Anders said.

He ran a hand through his hair. Tyr had this way of making him vulnerable. Once Anders had gotten over the annoyance and distrust, he found the kindness he’d been trying to deny noticing.

It didn’t help that Anders also fixated on the way the deep red tattoos only served to accentuate his cheekbones, or the bit of stubble around his chin, lips, and the sides of his face. Any attempt to distract himself from staring at Tyr’s mouth left Anders stuck gazing into those beautiful black eyes. Anders fell into them like they were pits.

 _Focus,_ his mind commanded. He wasn’t sure if the thought came from him or Justice.

“We should get Hawke, then,” Tyr decided. “Perhaps the pirate, too. I’d say bring the guardswoman for her talent with a sword and shield, but I know you don’t trust her.”

“Not hardly. But...maybe if she saw what Ser Alrik has been doing and what the Knight Commander has planned, she might turn to our side,” Anders said. “I’m not sure that’s worth the risk, however.”

“Have Hawke talk to her,” Tyr said. “Everyone listens to Hawke.”

At the very least, it was worth a try.

✖✖✖✖✖

Once again, Hawke and company were to enter dank tunnels that ran even deeper into the Undercity than Anders’ clinic in Darktown. Which meant there would be plenty of rat shit to perfume the air. Not an exciting prospect, to say the least.

But Anders had stressed the importance of this mission. He’d even allowed Aveline to accompany them, which meant he was serious. Hawke was a bit anxious herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing all this mage rebellion stuff?” Hawke said. “I could have helped.”

“The more deeply I involve you, the more you make yourself a target. There are enough eyes on you as things are. I won’t put you and your mother at risk. Not even for this,” Anders insisted.

“You let Tyr help,” Hawke countered.

“That’s different.”

“Because he’s a big tough man?”

Anders glanced at her, bewildered. “Hawke, I’m not sure you remember, but before you started using that bow of yours, close quarters fighting was a huge danger for you. You’ve almost gotten yourself killed numerous times. I could do without the stress that causes. I swear to you, it’s got nothing to do with your gender.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, determined to be difficult. “So what’s the problem this time?”

“Have you been to the Gallows lately? You must have noticed how many Tranquil there are. Every day there’s more of them, selling their bloody wares,” Anders said. “They’re good mages, too. Many I know to have passed their Harrowing.”

Hawke’s brow wrinkled. “But that’s… Isn’t that against the rules the Chantry set up for the Circles?”

“Exactly,” Anders said. “The templars are using the Rite of Tranquility to silence those who speak against them. They’re working on a deliberate plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall within the next three years.”

“They can’t just—!” Hawke started, but swallowed her words. “No, they can’t be that heartless.”

“They’re worse,” Tyr grunted.

“My _sister_ is in there,” Hawke said, with rising urgency. “This can’t be true. I won’t let them endanger her like that!”

“There are groups in Kirkwall who help those fleeing the Circle. I’ve talked to people on the inside,” Anders said.

“You’re saying you can get Bethany out?”

“If it comes to that,” Anders said with a terse nod. “First, we need to make sure this plan doesn’t succeed. It’s the work of a templar named Ser Alrik. I had a run in with him, once. He’s the one who did the ritual on Karl. Nasty piece of work; likes to make mages beg. At least Knight Commander Meredith believes she’s helping people, however misguided. Ser Alrik’s a sadist.”

“Maybe this is just his idea,” Hawke said, hopeful. “The other templars must see sense. Ser Thrask wanted to help Feynriel. And Knight Captain Cullen was…well, he listened when we told him not to punish that recruit. And Ser Emeric has been looking into those murders!”

“I hope that’s true,” Anders said. “If we can bring evidence of this plan to light, men like Thrask and Emeric should stand against it. I even knew the Knight Captain, back when I was in Kinloch Hold. He’s changed, but he was kind to a friend of mine. Surely there’s still a heart somewhere in there.”

“Either way, this ‘Tranquil Solution’ has to be stopped,” Tyr said. “Rumor has it Ser Alrik has plans to take it to the Divine herself.”

“There’s no way Justinia would listen to that,” Aveline said. “The Chantry isn’t full of monsters as you two seem to believe.”

“If he even gets the chance to propose it, though, what does that mean for us? We’re in a world where horrors such as this will be listened to as if they’re _sensible._ They shouldn’t even be giving him the time of day!” Anders insisted.

Hawke nodded in silent agreement. This whole conversation was turning her stomach with fear for her sister. For Merrill. For Anders himself. Her father had avoided talking about the Tranquil even before Bethany’s magic started to flourish, but afterwards Sarah almost never heard the word, in any context.

Hawke couldn’t fathom being scooped out of herself and made hollow. Or...no, it wasn’t like that really. They said being Tranquil blocked one from the Fade. Either way, to not be able to feel anything, joy or pain, sounded like the worst fate. That Tranquility was allowed in the first place was horrifying; a false mercy. What Anders described was something out of a mage’s worst nightmares.

She needed to distract herself from these thoughts before they ate her alive. “So what are these tunnels for, anyway?”

“Lyrium smugglers,” Tyr said.

“Templars used them to get an extra fix, but once the mages found them, we’ve started using them for our own needs,” Anders said.

“I hope you realize I may be required to report this place to other authorities in the city,” Aveline said, though she didn’t sound as if she looked forward to that possibility. “If the lyrium trade runs through here, it could be dangerous to allow it to continue.”

“This is only one of a network of secret tunnels in and out of the Gallows,” Anders said with a menacing edge. “You can try to stomp down the mages who escape, but we will keep finding ways to get them out.”

Aveline sighed, looking at Hawke. “I said ‘lyrium trade,’ didn’t I? You did hear me say that and not a word about mages.”

“I know, Aveline. I know,” Hawke said. Anders’ mind was so fixated on the issue at hand that he didn’t seem to hear everything fully. Sometimes Hawke even worried that Justice blocked bits out on purpose.

It wasn’t too long after that when the group ran into some templar goons. Aveline and Tyr rushed in, ready to fight and determined to keep the templars as far away from Anders as possible. Hawke remained at his side with her bow, also prepared to grab his arm and help move him out of the way in a worst case scenario.

Being possessed gave him an extra edge, boosting not only his magical abilities, but also giving him a little more resistance to templar abilities. Still, it couldn’t keep Anders completely safe. Hawke would not lose anyone else. As much as she could hold fast to the people she loved, she would do exactly that.

Her arrows were slightly less helpful with such heavily armored targets, but she still contributed what she could to the fight. Hawke remained focused until a girl’s voice carried through the tunnels.

“No...please! I haven’t done anything wrong!” the mage girl half-sobbed.

Hawke tugged Anders along, ducking past the templars while they were distracted. The girl who had screamed looked no older than seventeen. A man in full templar uniform, save for the helmet, stood over her threateningly.

“That’s a lie,” the templar said. His voice was unnervingly calm. Hawke knew this had to be the infamous Ser Alrik. “What do we do to mages who _lie?_ ”

The mage girl sobbed more, tucking her knees into her body. “I just wanted to see my mum! They didn’t tell her where they were taking me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...please don’t do this!”

Anders flared blue. His eyes were bright and glowing, his whole body emanating with Justice’s power. Just as quick as it had come, he fought it off. “No...this is their place, we cannot—”

Hawke started to reach for him, but heard Alrik continue.

“So you admit to your attempted escape? You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line—don’t you?” he said. “Once you’re made Tranquil, you’ll do anything I ask.”

Despite being unable to see Ser Alrik’s face, Hawke knew the sort of lecherous expression he had to be wearing. Her hand tightened around her bow. Anders had a similar reaction, but this time he couldn’t control himself and shake it off.

“You fiends will never touch a mage again,” Anders said. But it wasn’t his voice. It was distorted while Justice pushed his way through to the forefront of Anders’ mind. There were the usual signs of the spirit’s control coming through; the bright eyes and cracks of light over his skin, but there was more than that. Black mists rose from him and threatened to choke the air around.

Hawke needed to take a step or two away from him so she wasn’t struggling to breathe. This was not like the way Anders usually fought. It wasn’t even the way she’d seen him and Justice work in tandem. This was something different. More powerful, but also more frightening. It was hard to tell whether there was even any of Anders left in that body as he swung his staff around and started to cast.

The two templars backing Alrik fell in an instant. Ser Alrik didn’t let this deter him as he raised his sword and shield, calling up silence to weaken the mages. It worked on the girl, who seemed to droop and go slightly limp, but nothing could affect Anders as he was.

Hawke remembered Karl’s words. _As if the Fade is inside him, burning like a sun._ They could separate mages from the source of their power to make them Tranquil. Yet, Anders had a being of the Fade in him. No mere templar abilities could sever that bond.

Ser Alrik’s eyes went wide as he, too, realized what was happening. “Abomination,” he muttered. Then his gaze hardened, his teeth ground hard together, and he lunged to make an attack.

The templar underestimated Anders. Fire whipped around him in a tornado, slowly enclosing on him. Hawke could feel the heat of the inferno radiate even from where she stood. The flames grew closer and closer, heating the metals Alrik wore until they burned his skin, then lighting his body in a blaze.

He screamed for only a minute before his throat went completely dry. It was more disturbing to hear him attempt to cry out in pain, releasing only choked noises as he fell to the ground. The templar flailed in his attempts to put out the fire.

The scent of burnt hair and flesh filled the air and choked Hawke even more than Anders’ energy had. She quietly gagged as it filled her nostrils, turning away from the sight and shutting her eyes. Hawke only opened them again when she heard two figures rushing up in armor, relaxing because it was only Tyr and Aveline. But then they saw it too, and the dread returned.

Sarah turned and saw that Alrik had stopped moving. Anders waved a hand, instantly putting out the flames. Without the fire to eat at the air, the smell of the templar’s charred body only worsened. Aveline pinched her nose, making a noise of disgust.

Hawke wanted very much to cover her own face, but her attention was fixed now on Anders. She thought that the death of Ser Alrik would have calmed Justice, sent him back to wherever it was that he rested while Anders took the reigns. However, her friend was still glowing blue and releasing those dark fumes as he stalked towards the mage girl.

“They will die!” Anders said, his voice even more distorted in his rage. “I will have every last templar for these abuses!”

Tyr was the one to jump forward, and Hawke envied his bravery while her own feet were locked in place.

“It’s over Anders. They’re all dead,” Tyr said.

But Anders whipped around, the black energy spurting out of him like a rush of steam as he moved. “Every one of them will feel justice’s burn!”

The mage girl was back to sobbing. “Get away, demon!” She rose her arms defensively.

“I am no demon,” Anders said, hovering over her in the same threatening manner that Ser Alrik had before. “Are you one of them, that you would call me such?”

“Anders, stop! She’s a mage. Save the fire for the templars,” Tyr said.

But Anders rose his hand, the light intensifying around him.

Hawke leapt forward, throwing her bow to the ground as she ran. She moved straight past Tyr and into Anders’ light, throwing her arms around his body.

“Stop!” Hawke shouted. “This isn’t you! Don’t hurt the ones you swore to protect!”

The light burst at her voice, filling the air with the sound of a dull crack. Anders stumbled back, but Hawke held him up. The mage girl stared for a moment before rising to her feet and tearing away in one swift motion. Hawke looked back to Aveline, who nodded at her to confirm that she would pursue the girl while Hawke and Tyr dealt with Anders.

“Maker, no… I almost… If you weren’t here…!” Anders breathed.

Hawke released him from her hold as he found the power to stand again. “What in the Voids happened to you just now? That was… I’ve never seen you like that before!”

Anders shook his head, gripping it with one hand. “I don’t… I need to go.” He hurried away without another word.

Tyr followed before Hawke could even think to move, and she was left standing alone in the tunnels with the bodies of dead templars at her feet. She forced herself not to look, and went in the direction that the girl and Aveline had gone. Anders would need...time. Hawke could only hope that Tyr’s quiet understanding would be what her friend needed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Anders hadn’t spoken much since they got back. Tyr had managed to catch up with him in no time at all, but followed a few paces behind. Tyr would give Anders some space, though he wouldn’t leave him entirely. He would have to be a terrible bodyguard to do that.

Of course, it was more than just a job. At first it had been little more than that, despite Tyr’s silent admissions to himself of how attractive Anders was to him and how much he wanted to support the cause. But then he’d been slowly let in, sharing pieces of Anders’ life.

Tyr helped in the clinic. He fed and cared for Ser Pounce. He listened to Anders rant about Hawke as he worried over her. Tyr helped mages who were figuring their way out of the Kirkwall Circle, side by side with Anders. What had started as Tyr serving Hawke to keep Anders safe had turned into more of a partnership between mercenary and mage.

And, of course, he was still attracted to Anders. His pretty blonde hair and eyes like honey were constantly on Tyr’s mind. He knew the man’s heart was complicated with a still painful loss of Karl and one-sided affections for Hawke, so Tyr promised himself he would not pursue anything further. Still, watching Anders crumble like this was making him want to hold the mage even more, if it would help.

Tyr was actually starting to nod off when he finally heard Anders’ voice again.

“Trash. Trash. Keep. Trash. _Trash…_ ” Anders chucked some spoiled herbs to the side. They’d gone too long without use and could no longer help anyone. “Won’t be needing that anymore,” he added bitterly.

“You’re upset,” Tyr said, rising from where he’d been falling asleep. “We should talk.”

“Upset doesn’t _begin_ to cover it. Had Hawke not been there I would have murdered a girl! An innocent mage. I would have been no better than the templars,” Anders said.

“You lost control,” Tyr said. His voice was softer than usual. “But even with Justice taking over like that, you heard her.”

“Not just her,” Anders said, shaking his head. “I heard you, too. And I wanted to stop as soon as I did but I… It was so much harder than it should have been.”

“Still, your heart knew you had to stop.”

“You have too much faith in me. If I’d gone to do this alone, I wouldn’t have known who she was until it was too late. Or even if I had just you, you could have been held back by the other templars,” Anders insisted. “I was wrong to merge with Justice. Now I’m too dangerous to be of help to anyone.”

“That girl would have been Tranquil if we hadn’t gone after Alrik,” Tyr argued.

“And she might have been dead if I’d not been stopped!” Anders’ eyes flashed blue for a moment. He took a heavy breath and restrained his magic. “You see? I can’t even stop it now.”

“But you’re not facing this alone, Anders. You have Hawke. You...have me.”

“I _have_ you?” Anders repeated. But then… No. He shook his head, the thought too tempting to entertain. “You have been too kind, Tyr. Too understanding.”

Tyr frowned. “Are you asking me to stop?”

“Maker, no,” Anders said with a weak laugh. “I just don't get why you would care so much or go so far just for someone like me. I only see one way this ends and the word for that is 'disaster.’ I'm not the sort of person you should tie yourself to.”

“There would be disaster in the world with or without you,” Tyr insisted, his voice suddenly more gruff and forceful. “But it's a little easier to swallow with the company.”

Anders heart should not have fluttered so easily at those words. And he definitely shouldn't have (or so he thought the moment after) repeated a previous mistake, leaping across the room only to press himself to Tyr and take the other man’s lips in a kiss. It was even more chaotic than when he'd done something similar to Hawke; more desperate and wanting and frantic. The best part, however, was that the gesture was returned.

Tyr put his hands on the sides of Anders’ face, pulling him closer until he couldn't anymore. Anders made loud moaning sounds as he became fully absorbed in the kiss, melting under Tyr’s touch and sucking on his lips. His tongue tasted faintly of strawberries, and Anders tried to recall when Tyr might have eaten some. No matter, as it was wonderful regardless.

Then, they parted. Anders forced himself to breathe, sucking in air like a man saved from drowning. He looked at Tyr, then away again, because he could barely keep himself from lunging forward again. He had not been rejected like he had with Hawke, but maybe that part was still coming.

It didn't. It never did.

“Anders, you're…” Tyr began, but found his mind lacking. “I've wanted to try that for a while.”

“I'd be lying if I claimed I hadn't been feeling the same,” Anders said in an exhale. “Still, I—”

“Don't.” Tyr brushed some strands of blonde hair from Anders’ face, to see those honey eyes more clearly. “Don't warn me away like I would actually listen. I know what's involved here. I've already steeped myself in it. Having you changes little.” He paused, then decided to rephrase. “But, well, it changes _a lot._ ”

Anders sighed.

“Good things, though. Us things, not them things.” Tyr cursed at himself in his head. Usually not being good with words managed to help keep the intimidating air about him. Short sentences and phrases, clipped words. Add a gruff voice and he was in business. But when he wanted to employ the opposite strategy, all softer and sweeter, he found he lacked the technique to be fully capable.

Anders wasn't much better with his sense of doom and gloom. But he was good at other things. Things that required lips and tongues, but for different uses than speech. So he pushed forward and kissed Tyr again.

They stayed like that for a while, until Anders thought it wisest to set wards, lest they were disturbed. They fell, but they fell together. One day they'd notice that was something of a theme to their relationship. For now, they were too lost in the literal act of falling, then with what followed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Over a week had passed, and Hawke's visits were only a little less awkward. This time she greeted Anders with bundles and bundles of fresh herbs and a few potions that had already been mixed and placed into enchanted bottles to make sure they'd store well. It wasn't that Anders was going to look a gift Hawke in the mouth, but it seemed like an excess.

“Where are you even getting the money for all of this? I know you're wealthy but this still must've been more than you'd usually spend in one day,” Anders insisted. She had even offered to buy him a new staff, which was even fishier.

“Just freed up some room in my budgeting lately,” Hawke said with a shrug. “It would've gone elsewhere anyway, so I should keep you stocked up.”

She kept looking around him too. Like there was something she expected to find. If he were a lesser man, and she a lesser woman, Anders might have suspected that she was looking for stocks of lyrium. But Hawke was Hawke, and likely had something more personal and less accusatory in mind.

“Well, I won't say no, but there's really no need for— Would you stop bobbing around and look at me?!”

Hawke immediately pulled her head back and stood straighter. She looked guilty, like Ser Pounce could when he'd made a tear in Anders’ favorite robes. Which added validity to the theory that Pounce and Hawke just couldn't get along for having too many similarities. (Though it was painfully obvious that Hawke just loved smothering the little furball too much. She was too used to the open affection of Hermes.)

“What are you looking for? Did you need something from me so you're buttering me up?” Anders asked.

“Uhh...no.” Hawke looked mournfully sheepish, which didn't bode well. “I was...checking for Tyr. Is he still around?”

Anders tried to ignore the warmth of his cheeks, the one that meant they were reddened. “He must've stepped out this morning. But I'm sure he'll be back later, if you need him for something.”

Hawke bit her lip.

“Hawke,” Anders said like a warning, “what do you know that I don't?”

“He asked...that I stop sending him payments. He told Varric the same thing. He sent letters so I wasn't sure if it meant he was just going to leave or what.”

Anders didn't have a sinking feeling. He didn't have a dramatic loss of color or a tear in his eye. No, he just stood there, staring, numb. Like Hawke had just told him his tunic was stained and it wasn't coming out. Bad news, but no devastation to follow.

Maybe he just wasn't surprised. This was worse than Hawke's rejection, sure, but by now he was starting to assume his relationships were doomed from the start. Before it, even.

Still, Anders thought he should at least feel something. Mad? Distraught? Lonely? Oh, yes, that last one was spot on. That was the emptiness. 

“I...guess he thought a goodbye would be awkward,” Anders said. “Thank you for these, Hawke. I'm very busy though, so you should get back to...whatever it is you have to do today.”

Hawke's eyes spoke her apology for her, while her mouth just released a goodbye. She knew. Of course she did. Anders and his heart were about as subtle as lightning. He didn't need to tell her they'd slept together to know he had feelings for Tyr.

Anders drowned himself in work. If he was busy, he couldn't think about it. If he couldn't think, he wouldn't reach the point of tears. He bandaged a girl's knee. He helped a man with back pain. He diagnosed a bad rash and offered the proper treatment for it. And still, the back of his mind nagged “I told you so.”

Anders closed up shop a little early. He didn't need to turn anyone away, thank the Maker. His weak heart would have gone until no one was left, otherwise. Tyr had helped with the sleep and self control, reminding him that if he wanted to continue treating people he, too, needed rest.

As if Anders required another reason to miss him.

Anders uncorked a bottle of something alcoholic and probably stolen that Isabela had “donated” and sat on his ass, prepared for a pity party of one. He was decently tipsy when someone (someone who knew the patterning of the wards well enough to get around them without Anders being alerted) came in. Anders slammed the bottle down and stood.

“You're back?” he said, disbelief slurred by alcohol.

“...yes?” Tyr said. “Is there a reason I shouldn't be?”

“But Hawke said...Hawke said—!” Anders couldn't even finish the thought.

“Oh,” Tyr said, averting his eyes. “She told you, then. I meant to tell you tonight myself, but… Now you know.”

“Why?” was all Anders could think to ask.

“To show you...how I feel. You know I'm not good with words,” Tyr said.

Anders reached for the bottle again. “Is that it, then?” He couldn't help but be a little pissed off. For him to leave now, as a way of expressing his _feelings?_ Insult and injury, in one fell swoop. “So the way you feel is that I'm good enough for a quick fuck but not worth the trouble of staying?”

Tyr wrinkled his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Hawke isn't paying you anymore!” Anders shouted. He gestured with the bottle, which sloshed in his grip, dripping a little on the floor.

“Because I don't want her to,” Tyr explained.

“Because you're leaving!”

“Because _I love you._ ”

Anders was already pink from the alcohol, but now his cheeks were even darker. “You’re leaving because y—”

“No,” Tyr said, sighing at himself and resting his head in his palm. “I don't want to be paid when I would willingly stay without it. It feels...wrong. Deceptive, somehow.”

Anders felt like the world's biggest idiot. But the world's biggest lovesick idiot, which made all the difference. He bounded forward and threw his arms around Tyr’s thick neck.

“You thought I would leave you? Now?” Tyr asked.

“You didn't have a reason to stay beyond the job,” Anders reasoned. “Or...so I thought.”

Tyr smiled and kissed Anders’ forehead. “You ridiculous man.”

Anders frowned, but not at the comment (and definitely not about the kiss). “How will you make money if you're guarding me for free? I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm living off of donations and...well, what Varric and Hawke give me while pretending it's 'my share’ from some job we took.”

“I can help Hawke, and take jobs of my own. I'll make time to do that and stay with you. When Hawke takes you out for a job, I'll find work of my own. Merc contracts if I must. But I can do other things.”

“You just… You don't have to,” Anders insisted.

“I do,” Tyr countered.

And, well, Anders didn't want to argue that any further.


	27. Uncertainties

“Aveline, what a nice surprise,” Hawke said.

Bodahn had already brought out tea and scones for them both. He really was always on top of things.

“Yes, good to see you as well, Hawke,” Aveline said. The edge in her voice gave away that this was merely to be polite.

Had Hawke done something wrong again? She couldn't recall, though there must have been something to make Aveline that grumpy.

“Okay Aveline, what's bothering you?” Hawke asked.

“It isn't so much a ‘what’ as it is a ‘who.’ You remember the templar, Ser Emeric? He wants your help and some sort of official sanction.”

“What for?”

“For his...investigation. He's convinced every random murder in the past few years has been connected, and he _won't_ be quiet.”

“Can't your guards just throw him a bone? What if he's onto something real?” Hawke said. Maybe it was as crazy as it sounded, but the man had been at it for years. He must have found something other than his own obsessiveness in the mess of it.

“I have,” Aveline said, exasperated. “I even had one of my Lieutenants raid the DuPuis mansion. But there was nothing there. You wouldn't believe how much ass I had to kiss after that.”

“Enough to leave your lips sore, probably,” Hawke said.

Aveline huffed out a laugh. “And sore knees from the grovelling. Bloody hobbyist constable. Why can't he spend his declining years building a boat or something?”

“There was no similar thread with all the bodies?” Hawke asked.

“Not on the ones we actually found, no. Most of them just disappeared. The rest were only…parts. Like the hand you found.”

Yes, and Hawke felt sick just at the memory of that.

“And there is one other thing; they were all women. But that isn't uncommon, sad to say. Violence against women is…well, I don't need to tell you how bad it can be,” Aveline said.

“Many men have earned an arrow to the throat,” Hawke agreed. “Still, why come to me with this? Am I just the best helper in Kirkwall?”

“Not to damage your ego, but this isn't about your reputation from my end, Hawke. Emeric keeps asking for you by name, since you gave him the time of day three years ago. I tried to tell him how busy you are with your own business but he refused to listen. Just go and humor him. Look into something without getting yourself into trouble. Then convince him this is all in his head and the case will be closed.”

“And if we _do_ find something?”

“If it leads somewhere real, I'll take it off your plate,” Aveline said. Then she sighed, muttering, “Anything to shut him up.”

Aveline let Hawke know where to find him before turning to leave. The guard captain was just too busy to stick around for long. Hawke thought to ask Aveline to come with, whenever they left to investigate one of Emeric’s leads. She could be there unofficially, while also keeping them from getting too deep into trouble.

Hawke took a solo trip to the Gallows, then. In daylight, the streets of Kirkwall were safe enough, and she had her knife and bow. There was no one she wanted to bother with this for the moment. Plus, going to the Gallows was hardly a cheery event. To Anders and Merrill, it was a reminder of mages’ suffering. To Fenris, it was a reminder of the Tevinter slaves that had built much of the city and their weeping, gilded likenesses. To the rest, the general gloom and unease was enough reason to keep away whenever possible.

Ser Emeric was waiting in the courtyard as Aveline said he would. He stood straighter at Hawke's approach, looking delighted for a split second before training himself back to neutrality. He couldn't help but be glad to have someone who would listen, even though the news he had to share was from enough to deserve a more serious expression.

“A little birdie told me that you were looking for my help,” Hawke said. “Aveline. It was Aveline.”

“Yes, I will have to thank the Guard Captain for taking this matter seriously,” Emeric said, apparently unaware of how annoyed he had made her. “I have spent the last few years continuing my investigation into the murders of Ninette, Mharen, and the other women. I believe I finally have a suspect; a man named Gascard DuPuis.”

Now there was a funny name. Hawke had to restrain herself from snorting.

“Aveline mentioned that name. Something about raiding his mansion?”

“Yes, there was an attempt, but they announced their presence and intent too soon. Gascard had time to prepare, and so he hid anything of worth. But I believe that, were someone to go there without a chance for him to receive any sort of warning, they might get the evidence we dearly need to solve this case.”

“That person being me,” Hawke said with a bit of a sigh.

“Yes, though I would suggest for you to bring along some of your friends. There could be danger, if he's the murderous man I believe him to be,” Emeric said.

“Of course.”

“Knight Commander Meredith forbade me from continuing my investigation, so I would appreciate you keeping most of this between us,” Emeric admitted. “Though she never said anything about seeking outside help.”

“So where is this mansion? I mean, Hightown, obviously, but I don't really want to be wandering into the wrong home and frightening random nobles.”

Emeric agreed, and gave her directions so she would know exactly which house to go to. Just up the stairs from the Chantry, hang a right, and find the house with the shrubbery that looks like… Well, the phallic shrubbery.

Isabela was gonna get a kick out of that. Hawke just had to invite her along. Aveline had to be there for more official reasons. Hawke didn't think a trio was quite enough to suffice. This guy could be dangerous, if agitated by their sudden appearance. Which meant he might get stabby.

Varric was busy and for once insisted that Hawke leave him to his business. The Merchant's Guild couldn't be avoided forever, apparently. Sebastian was doing something, too. He was vague about it, but it sounded like Chantry business, which also meant Hawke had probably spaced out when he was telling her. So maybe he hadn't been vague, and it was just her poor attention span. Either way, he was out.

Merrill was a thought. She did know about blood magic. Since last time gave the impression that some must be involved, given the appearance of demons, the specialist might be a good option. But then again, it might make her sympathies waver. It was hard to tell, with Merrill.

Fenris was...no, Hawke couldn't bother him for this. She was already going to see him in just over an hour, so that was probably enough time spent being wildly uncomfortable. The place she had once sought like a honey bee to flowers was now the place she dreaded to go. Not because she didn't want to see him. Actually, she still ached to be near him. But it hurt in a way that she couldn't stand.

Anders. Maybe he wasn't busy. Though the way he and Tyr had been lately, he might like his evenings without being in hot pursuit of a criminal.

Merrill would do. It would be a nice girls night out! Probably killing things together, knowing them. Though hopefully a lengthy interrogation would be all they needed to do.

In the meantime, Hawke had to get the word out, then get back to Hightown. She'd already promised someone some of her time, that day, and she didn't want to miss that. No matter how awkward.

✖✖✖✖✖

It was hard not to fidget. Not to force his eyes from Hawke or let them wander back to her. Fenris did not regret this, he told himself. He did want her help with becoming literate, because he trusted her to have patience and not tease him mercilessly when he struggled.

And yet.

The atmosphere between them retained the same sexual tension as before, but worse. Worse because they both knew how good they could be together, and how impossible it was that it could ever happen again. Fenris constantly changed his mind about whether it would be better or worse for him to watch her moving on. The pained looks she wore (by accident, he was certain) made good arguments for finding her someone else to dote on. The rarer smiles silenced any thought of watching her leave.

He traced the dotted lines she left him, following the loops, slopes, and slashes. Fenris read the word in his head. “Cat.” Like the mage’s furball.

“Your handwriting has improved,” Hawke praised. Always with the encouragements. Always some offer of kind words. “Did you try any of the books I left you?”

Fenris frowned. “Children's books.”

Hawke shrunk. “I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything else simple enough for a beginner. They're sweet stories, I promise.”

“I did try to read one. A book of Ferelden tales?”

Hawke perked up again. It was easy to gauge her change in moods. It almost made Fenris laugh, as his mouth tugged into a smirk.

“That has some of my favorites. The Chicken and the Mabari is one my father used to tell a lot. Carver would spend the rest of the night howling like he had become a dog himself! Mother was livid.”

“You miss him, still,” Fenris said.

Hawke lowered her eyes. “I always will. Both of them. I don't have much family left, now. And with Bethany in the Circle she's in constant danger of… Anders swears he is doing all he can to ensure that she's protected but the stories coming from that place—”

“Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up,” Fenris said. “I am sorry, Hawke.”

“It's alright. It's just hard not to be anxious, with everything. The Qunari and the Viscount expecting things of me, and now this murder investigation is open again…”

“The one from before? When we found—”

“The hand. Yes,” Hawke said, nearly gagging. “Ser Emeric has a lead to investigate.”

“Would you like me to come? If anything goes wrong…”

“You don't need to!” Hawke said, both too loud and too hasty.

Fenris pulled back. He watched her cover her mouth in embarrassment, before starting to stumble out something about having Aveline and a girl's night. She didn't want him there.

“You don't need to do this anymore, you know,” Fenris said. He couldn't look at her.

Selfish as it was, he didn't just keep her here for the lessons alone. In all honesty, Varric could help teach Fenris to read. Hawke didn't need to keep torturing herself with this proximity. They could see less and less of each other until they were almost back to being strangers. That might have been for the best.

“I...suppose that's true. But you wanted to learn, and I wanted to help you,” Hawke said.

“Ask Varric to do it. Or I can, if this is too difficult. Given what we are.”

Hawke swallowed. “Do you not want to see me anymore?” she asked.

Oh. That pain in her voice was palpable. It took all the restraint Fenris had left in him not to push himself closer, pet her hair and reassure her. He could tell her just how much that was wrong, because he still wanted to be around her, to see her. He just didn't want those things at the cost of her happiness.

“That isn't it,” Fenris said. “You have other things to do, that is clear. I do not wish to take up your time, now that it is so valuable.”

“You aren't. I mean, I want to be here. You're my… We’re friends, and I help my friends in any way I can. I promise, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be,” Hawke said.

So maybe she was just like him? Selfish. Keeping him around no matter how much it hurt.

Was it awful that knowing that made him incredibly happy?

“Understood,” he said simply. “Then I should apologize, as well as offer my thanks.”

“No need for either of those,” Hawke insisted. “It's my pleasure.”

Fenris knew this would kill him. How, he could not say, but he suspected it had to manage somehow. His heart strained while she offered the gentlest of smiles.

At least Hawke would be something worth dying for.

✖✖✖✖✖

“How is our sexy elven friend?” Isabela asked. “Other than Merrill. I know how she's doing better than you do.”

Merrill giggled beside her. “I think Hawke knew you didn't mean me, Isabela. But thank you for the flattery, anyway.”

“Maker preserve me,” Aveline sighed.

“Fenris is doing well. I may have also found something better for his reading lessons, so he's not reading a bunch of children's books. Mother has this poetry book that doesn't get too flowery,” Hawke said.

“Ooh, dirty romantic poetry,” Isabela said. “Nice strategy Hawke!”

“It… This isn't a strategy, Iz. It's just something nice to read that he would actually enjoy,” Hawke said. “Let's just get on with the murder investigation. My horror show love life can be put on hold a little longer.”

“Shame,” Isabela said.

“Oh good, I thought I would never get to go home again,” Aveline said.

Hawke watched Isabela make a face. By the way she quickly opened and shut her mouth, it was clear Iz had something she wanted to say. For whatever reason, her better sense to hold her tongue took over, and Hawke was certain they’d just dodged a very dramatic moment together.

Hawke gestured her head in the direction of the door and Aveline walked forward. She knocked, announced her presence as Guard Captain, and waited a moment.

“Do you think it’s possible he’s gone out for the night?” Merrill asked.

“Or he didn’t hear us,” Hawke said mildly.

“Or he’s avoiding us,” Isabela said, one eyebrow arched. “Let’s just go in.”

Aveline made to stop her, but the door was open without even needing the lock picked. The four women stared at the now clear doorway, then looked to each other. Hawke sighed, and went in first.

She regretted it. The moment she stepped inside a bunch of Shades rose from the ground and danced around her threateningly. Hawke didn’t even have time to unstrap the bow from her back, and was forced to fight with her knife for a moment.

Merrill supported with a quick thrash of vines, an unfamiliar elven magic that she’d been taught as First of her clan. The Shade Hawke was scrapping with fell, and it gave the clearing Hawke had needed to roll away from the rest.

Isabela and Aveline entered the fray back to back, guarding each other’s weak points so they couldn’t be flanked while striking hard against the enemies that rose up. For all that they squabbled, they worked well together. Isabela even used Aveline’s back to get an extra push off when she launched herself at the last of the demons.

“Why are there bloody demons everywhere we go?” Hawke said, rolling her eyes as if she were looking up to the Maker for an answer.

“Well, it gives us one good reason to go after this bastard,” Aveline said. “Not only is he an apostate, but he’s wielding blood magic.”

Isabela strode past her. “So is Merrill, but she’s no threat to anyone.”

Aveline sighed. “That was not… I’m not making some pointed comment about anyone’s life choices. I’m just stating a fact that those things are unlawful. So now I have better reason to excuse my barging in.”

“It’s okay, Aveline, we get it,” Hawke said. “No one is arresting Merrill.”

“Oh, good,” Merrill said. “Not that I don’t trust Aveline, but you do make me nervous with all that guard talk of yours.”

“DuPuis is different from you,” Aveline said.

“Because he isn’t my friend?” Hawke asked.

“ _No,_ ” Aveline insisted, with a hot glare. “Merrill’s use of blood magic has only been in an attempt to help her clan, from what I understand of it. DuPuis has summoned a great number of actual demons to guard his house, endangering any who might enter. That is reckless and cannot be allowed to continue.”

“Yes. Excellent. Now let’s save the rest of the moral debates until after we get this asshole!” Hawke declared, freeing her bow at last and charging up the stairs. The others had no choice but to follow.

Between fighting more demons, they found an incriminating journal, next to piles of anonymous letters that thanked Gascard for the “artifacts” he’d found for someone. There were other things there—inquiries into missing persons, messages to Starkhaven’s Circle before its burning, emptied vials that were stained dark red in places where they once held blood. All of it was enough to incriminate Gascard ten times over.

He had a _lot_ of explaining to do. And that was assuming that Hawke would even be willing to listen after the waves of demons he’d forced her and her friends to fight through.

They were driven to action when a scream sounded through the halls. It was muffled behind one of the doors, but Hawke followed the cries for help to the source. She kicked the door open, not caring whether she needed to do so or not. The bastard didn’t deserve nice doors.

“Help me, please! He’s gone mad!” a woman cried, cowering on the floor.

There were no obvious signs of harm, only puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks from panicked crying. Gascard, who was standing above the woman, was also not even touching her. It was a relief to Hawke, but she doubted she could trust him not to try anything with the woman still so close.

Hawke rose her bow and pointed the tip of an arrow at Gascard. “Let her go. Now.”

Gascard was stunned. “You’re...not him,” he said slowly. Then it seemed to register that an arrow was aimed at his chest, and he rose his hands in a hurry. “Shit, I-I know what this looks like, but I didn’t hurt her!”

Hawke looked to the woman. “Did he?”

The woman whimpered, mumbling something. Aveline stepped forward and forced Gascard to back away. Then she helped the woman to her feet, and whispered something to her about staying “until all this business was settled.” Though the woman didn’t seem fond of that idea, she made no move to flee.

“I didn’t, I swear!” Gascard exclaimed in his defense. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but there is a killer on the loose, and I’m certain he’s playing us both. Just...let me explain.”

“You have one minute to convince me not to loose this,” Hawke said, gesturing with her chin at her weapon.

“Several years ago, my sister was murdered. The bastard’s now in Kirkwall, killing again. The same way he killed my sister,” Gascard said. He held his arms stiff in the air, still surrendering to Hawke’s mercy. He didn’t dare move but for a slight tremble. “It starts with a bouquet of white lilies. He sends them to each new victim. Alessa was going to be next. I took her so he would have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister’s killer, but then you—”

“Faced your trap of demons instead?” Isabela interrupted.

Gascard’s brow twitched, and he swallowed back what looked to be frustration. Hard to tell for certain with the tension in his body.

“He’s lying!” Alessa shouted, finding her nerve. “He hurt me!”

“I explained this!” Gascard said, lowering his arms and turning back to Alessa. “I need your blood to track you down in case he took you. It was for your protection.”

“That’s close enough,” Aveline warned.

Gascard looked down at his feet, as if he’d not even realized his body had moved towards them. He backed off again, but didn’t raise his arms. Hawke was already lowering her bow.

“Why didn’t you simply work with the city guard? Work with Emeric?” Hawke questioned.

“Because I didn’t want him locked up,” Gascard spat. “I wanted to be the one to bleed him dry.”

“That’s...more than a bit creepy, you know,” Merrill said.

“What else have you learned?” Hawke asked.

Aveline took the chance, before things got too graphic, to escort Alessa out of the room. If anything happened, she trusted the other three could handle one man. Even if he did summon a demon or two, they would put a stop to it.

Gascard explained the killer’s modus operandi. (Fancy Tevene for “how he works.”) Supposedly the killer targeted attractive, healthy women to use them in blood magic rituals. The fewer people they knew, the better. It made it easier for them to disappear without having people coming to look for them. Gascard was one of a few who had a connection to one of the victims. Only recently had he been forced to rely on blood magic to amplify his abilities, and regretted the fact that he’d been driven to it.

“It’s not...entirely unbelievable,” Hawke said. She looked to Isabela. Out of all the three, Isabela knew liars the best. If anyone was going to recognize one, it was her.

Isabela didn’t give the man a chance once the decision was hers to make. Before Gascard could even blink there was a dagger through his throat, and he was gagging on his own blood. He fell to his knees, clawing at the handle, then landed face first on the tiled floor. Not even a chance given to summon up demons.

“The letters we found don’t add up with his story,” Isabela said. “He’s a liar.”

“Shouldn’t we have at least questioned him first? Made him confess? He might’ve helped,” Merrill said.

“Sorry, Kitten, but he wasn’t going to come clean,” Isabela said. “That story was practiced, and practiced well. He’s been ready for this moment for ages, I’m sure. Better to be done with it.”

Hawke grimaced. “While I’m sure you’re right about him not confessing to anything, he was also our only lead. Now we have nothing.”

“Oh, come on, Hawke! Grab those journals of his and see if your templar buddy can’t sort this all out. He’s done well enough playing detective so far,” Isabela said.

“Even if he doesn’t see anything behind all the information in those things, he will want to see them,” Hawke agreed. She sighed, returning her bow to its proper place on her back. “Alright. Let’s get all we can from this asshole.”

 

“Including coin?” Isabela said, a glint in her eye.

Hawke grinned a little. “ _He_ doesn’t have any more use for it, now does he?”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke and Aveline went together to the Gallows this time. It was later than Hawke had planned, but there was some business with Bodahn and Sandal that needed tending to before Hawke could go anywhere. She felt terribly waiting this long with important information, but life was just determined to get in the way of this one.

Aveline reassured her on the short boat ride over, though she was tense as well.

“Oh, I meant to ask you,” Hawke remembered, “did Alessa have any more information than we got out of Gascard?”

“Not much. Just showed me a cut on her arm and told me he’d said some cryptic things about waiting for a visitor. She was too shaken up to tell us more. She confirmed that he’d explained the blood magic was for tracing her location, but not that it was for if she was taken by the murderer,” Aveline said. “This whole thing is nasty business, Hawke. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But someone has to do something.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to be involved, it’s just… Things like this make it harder to sleep at night. Bandits, blood mages...they’re awful but I’ve gotten used to that. They’re almost predictable. But something like this is completely unheard of. A string of murders, all by one man, with some kind of calling card?”

“He’s a killer. Isn’t that what they do?”

“Not like this. Not usually.”

Hawke knew Aveline was right. There were so many parts of this that were bizarre. She just didn’t want to think of that severed hand anymore. It still sent shivers down her spine.

They met with a templar almost as soon as they docked, but this wasn’t Emeric. Hawke had no idea who this one was, actually. She worried for a moment about Bethany…

“Aren’t you Hawke?” the templar said. “Emeric left not long ago. He said you’d arranged to meet tonight.”

“Uh, no?” Hawke said. “I mean, yes I’m Hawke but no, I was meeting Emeric here. Why else would I take one of those horrible little boats over here to the worst part of Kirkwall?”

The templar rose a brow, but didn’t comment on Hawke’s hatred of the Gallows. “I am not mistaken,” she insisted. “Here, you sent this message a half an hour ago.” She handed the note to Hawke.

“This isn’t my handwriting. I didn’t write this,” Hawke said. But sure enough, it was signed in her name. “Aveline…”

“Someone wanted to lure Emeric away before you got to him. Probably get him alone. I don’t like this,” Aveline said.

Hawke didn’t like it much either. “C’mon. We have to hurry.”

She tossed the ferryman an extra two silver and told him to bring them back to the other docks as fast as he could. There wasn’t much he could do to speed their departure, but he did try. Hawke waited anxiously, almost tempted to just leap into the water and swim back, but she knew that was not going to help. Besides the fact that she’d be horribly wet and weighed down by that once she even got there, she wasn’t the best swimmer. The boat was still faster.

But not fast enough. Hawke and Aveline got to the meeting place mentioned on the forged note, and their guts sank at the sight of the body on the ground before them. Emeric was dead.

There was only time enough for a breath before Hawke regretted not bringing in more backup. Demons rose from the shadows, prepared to fight the rest of those lured into this trap. Hawke unslung her bow in a flurry.

“Shit!” she shouted. “Shit, shit, _shit!_ ”

“Focus, Hawke!” Aveline called. “Make your shots count!”

It was the only choice she had, really.

Hawke kept her distance and nocked arrow after arrow, releasing them with the best aim she could manage in her panic. She was shaken and her palms were sweaty, which made it that much harder to calculate the arc of each arrow.

More than anything she needed to not look at Aveline, not think about Aveline, who was fighting all on her own down there in a swarm of demons. Hawke contemplated throwing an Antivan fire bomb she had on her belt, but it would only burn Aveline along with the enemies. It was best to save it, even if her shots were not what they normally were.

Hawke felled a shade, then another, then focused on a desire demon that was trying to use magic to confuse and disorient Aveline. There was enough of a handicap in number alone without adding that into the mix. But striking the demon, even from afar, would draw its attention. These shots had to count.

Hawke exhaled slow, holding the bowstring taut while she lined her eyes with the arrowhead with the desire demon’s skull. She bit her lip slightly this time as she let it fly, watching for a millisecond before it met its target and sunk into the demon’s eye.

And then it exploded. Hawke owed Varric so much even now for helping her rig those things up.

It was a good thing demons returned to the Fade upon death, otherwise that one would have been messy. With a little pressure relieved, however, Hawke returned to her role as master sharpshooter, and fixed her aim on more targets.

She fired and fired until every last demon was gone, disappearing into Fade dust...or whatever it was they did. Hawke leapt forward at the sound of clanking armor, watching Aveline fall to one knee in exhaustion.

“Aveline!” Hawke shouted. “You’re hurt!”

“Yes, Hawke, I know,” Aveline said. “Do you have any potions? Poultices?”

Hawke rummaged her pockets for an elfroot potion. “I’ll get you to Anders right away. I should just...check Emeric’s body.”

Aveline didn’t argue, nodding before uncorking the bottle she’d been handed. The potion would at least slow the bleeding and take some of the pain. Anders and his magic would handle the rest.

There was nothing abnormal about Emeric’s body. Unless one considered untimely death abnormal, which Hawke quite frankly didn’t anymore. She saw it too often to say it was strange.

From what she could see, Emeric had been jumped by the same demons that attacked them. His sword was near his hand, so he must have gone down fighting. Some people would call that a worthy death, proud that he had the chance to face his enemy head on. Hawke didn’t see many positives in being killed by demons, whether he was holding a sword or standing with no weapons to speak of.

“I’ll need to report this to the Knight Commander,” Aveline said, getting to her feet.

“What? Why?” Hawke asked, spinning.

“Two blood mages and now one of their own dead? Hawke, the templars will want to get involved now. This...this was a terrible thing, but it can result in something good. With their help—”

“They could muck things up worse! Or get nowhere! They could kill innocent mages in their hunt for one in the name of finding maleficar!” Hawke said.

“I know you’re protective of mages, Hawke, but see some sense in this. We need help, and the templars are good at hunting down… At finding apostates,” Aveline said.

“Why did you really never report my sister? Or Anders?” Hawke said. She didn’t care for rationality or friendship. She was furious and she wasn’t sure where to direct it anymore. And she wanted very badly to cry.

“Are you accusing me of something, Hawke?” Aveline said, tensing. But she shook her head, breathing deep and trying to be civil. “The mages you keep in your company have been helpful to the community. Merrill is good to the Alienage, in her way, and no one needs to speak of all that Anders has done. We all know. As for your sister, she has amazing discipline. I never had reason to fear her losing control. The other two remain under your watch. And besides all of that, I wouldn’t betray your trust. Hawke, you are my _friend._ I hope you’ve not forgotten that.”

Hawke breathed. Maker, had her heart been racing this whole time? She felt like it would burst a hole in her chest. She swallowed empty air and tried to regain composure.

“You trust the templars too much,” Hawke said.

“I can keep this from them until tomorrow,” Aveline said with a sigh, “but that is the most I can offer. They know Emeric came here, and unless you want to hide his body and make this a bigger mess than it needs to be…”

Hawke didn’t want that. Hawke didn’t much want any of this, of course, but what was she to do? Swept up in yet another mess. She needed a vacation. Or...anything that wasn’t this.

“Let’s just get to Anders’ clinic,” Hawke said. “You still need a healer. Just be sure not to mention templar involvement to him.”

Aveline laughed, though winced at the pain it caused. “Believe me, Hawke, I know better than that, at least.”


	28. Offered and Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, I managed to get a couple more chapters done for the backlog and hope to work on it more again soon. By the look of things, act three will begin with chapter 40. So not to worry, we've a while to go, yet!

Something was rotten in the city of Kirkwall. That...was normal, Hawke had to admit, but it was always a little worse when it involved the Qunari. Why Viscount Dumar seemed to think that Hawke had any sway with the Arishok was still beyond her. The guy barely tolerated her presence whenever she was around, and she made sure to be around as little as possible.

This time it was Seneschal Bran who did the dirty work of explaining the situation: there were a number of missing Qunari and they wanted it handled as quietly as possible. In Bran’s case, so quietly he didn’t want people even trying to solve the mystery, but Hawke ignored him. She was already working on the case. Scolding Bran for being a bit of an ass was a lost cause.

Point was, these Qunari had been sent in a group meant to delegate the fragile situation with the Qunari. That the delegate and his guards were now missing was suspect, and likely to imply guilt on the part of the viscount, who would have had power over them. The Arishok was not to know about this for as long as they could keep it that way. Hawke didn’t blame them for thinking it the better decision, but there was only so long missing people could be missing before their friends took notice. And the Qunari would surely be counting their numbers.

“I’m still trying to figure out how one kidnaps a Qunari. I mean, Tyr, you’re huge, but I don’t even think you could take one of them,” Hawke said.

“Unfortunately they were not at their best,” Bran admitted. “Their swords were tied to their sheaths, as I advised. It seemed a respectful compromise. Even I know you cannot separate a Qunari from their weapon.”

“Even then they wouldn’t be completely defenseless,” Anders reasoned. “They could fight.”

“But at a severe disadvantage. We have no idea how many people are involved,” Aveline said. She was a little stiffer today. Hawke was certain their argument when Emeric was found dead had something to do with it. But this was more official business, and it seemed only right to involve the guard captain.

Bran pointed them in the direction of a lead. A few guards had not reported in as they were meant to. This obviously did not sit well with Aveline, who balled her hands into fists at the mention of it. To have her own men involved in something like this…

“Where you find a swordsman so eager to sell his honor and duty, I’m sure I don’t know,” Bran said, already starting to move away from them.

“The Hanged Man.” All four said it in near perfect unison, it was amazing it wasn’t practiced.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be it,” Hawke said. She considered thanking Bran, but really, for what? His help was required by nature of his job. So she simply gave a half-hearted wave as she turned to walk away.

As they got back outside, Hawke turned to her companions, pursing her lips. “So, Hanged Man first? Or the Arishok?”

“I’m sorry?” Aveline said, aghast. “I don’t care for Seneschal Bran in the slightest, but I do agree that going to him could potentially stir up more trouble than we need.”

“He will find out,” Hawke said. “How soon that happens is up to us. If it’s longer, he’ll know we hid it, which looks worse. Besides, he may know something.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Aveline,” Anders said. He sounded horrified by the very concept of agreeing with the Guard Captain on something. “The Arishok will probably just get pissed off and decide to take out his rage on someone. Namely, you. I’d rather not see that happen.”

Tyr crossed his arms. “I think Hawke is right,” he said. That was all he said, but Hawke was glad to have someone else on her side.

“Maybe we need another opinion,” Hawke said, “from someone who knows about the Qun.”

Anders was already making a face. “You’re just looking for an excuse to drag him into this.”

“Am not!” Hawke insisted. “If I was he would be here already. Fenris knows Qunlat and Tevinter has been at war with the Qunari for a long time. He’ll know what to do.”

“Hawke has a point,” Aveline said. “We’re basing our conclusions off of blind fear. If Fenris has a clearer understanding of their Arishok and his nature, we should pursue it. The worst that could happen is that he agrees with us and we don’t go to the Qunari Compound.”

Hawke nodded, grinning with pride. Anders was outvoted, though Tyr seemed suddenly grumbly. Hawke didn’t have any clue what Tyr had heard of Fenris, outside of Anders’ numerous and loud complaints. A negative bias would have been be disheartening. Unsurprising, but disheartening.

It wasn’t too far of a walk from the Viscount’s Keep to Fenris’ mansion. At this point it was as good as his, even if he didn’t possess the deed. No one had bothered to check on a claim to the property or the location of the original owner (who wasn’t even Danarius, just some merchant who loaned it to him). Aveline’s patrols kept people away from it before they got too curious, and if Fenris had encountered any trouble, no one had heard of it.

Hawke’s heart still swelled at the sight of him, just to the point of being painful. It wasn’t as deep or aching as it had been that first day, when she woke up more alone than she had ever felt in her entire life. Yet, it was there, and undeniable. When she could get back to just being his friend, she would be relieved. But there was something heartbreaking in that thought, even.

“Fen,” she said. She’d not prepared other words, just the one. Hawke swallowed and lowered her face and eyes. Staring into those green irises she lost all reason and thought. “I wanted to ask for a bit of advice. Regarding the Qunari.”

She managed to look back up as she finished speaking. His face was barely readable, though his eyes were scanning behind her. Hawke hadn’t come in alone, after all.

“What’s happened?” Fenris asked.

“Some Qunari have gone missing, possibly kidnapped. Problem is, the Arishok doesn’t know, and the viscount wants to keep it that way. But I’m not so sure that’s the best idea, considering,” Hawke said. “I thought you might… Well you know the Qun better than any of us and… I mean, you speak Qunlat.”

Fenris’ expression softened, if only slightly, when his gaze fell back to her. Hawke caught it, because he didn’t bother with taming it back to the usual hard look his eyes held. She wanted to reach out to him. She didn’t.

“I only know what Danarius taught, in case I could be useful in Tevinter’s war. But of Qunari dealings, I know a great deal. Danarius either didn’t think me smart enough to understand what was being said, or didn’t care that I knew. Either way, I was with him for meetings of the Magisterium. That was enough exposure to learn what I did,” Fenris explained. “How long ago did these Qunari go missing?”

“Not long at all. Within a day, I believe,” Hawke said.

“That is enough time. The Arishok will already have his suspicions. We should go and inform him. Any longer and we will seem the guilty party for hiding it,” Fenris said. He was going to get his sword.

“Uh, you don’t...have to come,” Hawke said. Her cheeks were annoyingly warm.

“Yes, please,” Anders said, “stay here and relax. We don’t need you.”

Hawke and Fenris glared at the same time. Tyr snorted, which made the two of them notice, then become appropriately embarrassed.

“I will be useful,” Fenris insisted. “I want to come. But if you do not want me there—”

“No, that’s fine,” Hawke said, shaking her head. “I just. You. Choice.”

Fenris rose a single brow. “Right.”

Aveline sighed. “Let’s get to the compound now, if we’re going to do this.”

✖✖✖✖✖

The Arishok was not as big as Hawke remembered, but that was probably due to her imagination running away with her when remembering previous encounters with the man. He was still quite large, and only some of that was due to the immense presence he held. It was no wonder he was voted leader. Or...made leader, however they picked him.

Hawke felt silly, but even with the strange air still between them, she felt better doing this with Fenris behind her. He just made her feel secure. She could fall and he’d catch her. Literally, sure, but she meant it more in the figurative sense. Fenris wasn’t going to leave because of a screw up she made. Considering how often Hawke messed things up, that was commendable.

“What do you want, Hawke?” the Arishok demanded. “I have no interest in adding to my distractions."

“Then why send the viscount a delegate?” Hawke asked.

“A brief attempt to educate. If the dwarf had stolen the _saar-qamek,_ it could have been used to show the price of greed. But you know the outcome of that. These fools are determined to be wrong. I won’t waste the effort again,” the Arishok said.

As if the viscount had any control over the actions of one conniving dwarf. Under the Qun, he probably would. Javaris would have fallen in line, like any other. Not that Hawke believed that there were not still those among the Qunari who would find ways to scheme. They might think their system was flawless, but Hawke couldn’t see people like Javaris abandoning their old ways. Though, she supposed the more troublesome ones were just killed.

“I’ve come as a courtesy, Arishok,” Hawke said. Fenris had advised her on the way about what to say. It was necessary, considering Hawke’s propensity towards word vomit. “The delegate and his guards have gone missing.”

The Arishok narrowed his eyes. “Anyone else,” he said slow, voice somehow gruffer than it had been moments ago, “and those words would have been their last.”

Hawke swallowed, praying it wasn’t too visible. Behind her she could feel the others straighten, their hands twitching for their weapons. But this wasn’t going to be a fight. Not yet.

“You are handling this? Not your buffoon of a viscount?”

“I am,” Hawke said, with all the confidence she could muster.

“Then I will wait. But know this: the provocations we have suffered have worked. If this is not resolved, I can fulfill my duty to the Qun with far less annoyance by sifting through rubble.”

“Why are you here?” Hawke asked, before she could think better of it.

“That is not your concern,” the Arishok said. “Focus on the task you’ve been given, Hawke. Then we can speak again.”

Now he acted as if he’d given the order to begin with. She bit the inside of her lip to restrain herself from saying something sarcastic. The temptation was overwhelming.

Back outside of the compound, the whole group was able to relax their shoulders a little. Hawke was going to need a long hot bath at the end of the day. And maybe she could ask Bodahn for a backrub. He wasn’t the best at it, but those large dwarven hands of his did have advantages besides the ability to carry a great number of things all at once.

“As if there wasn’t enough pressure,” Aveline mumbled, shaking her head. “I know I don’t need to tell you, but this is bad, Hawke.”

“Yeah, the fact that he threatened to raze the entire city to the ground did give that impression,” Hawke said, running a hand through her hair. Her throat was constricting from all the nervousness arising in her, and gave her voice a squeaky quality. It made her sound weak or guilty, but she was just scared. It was hard not to be.

“What leads did you have?” Fenris asked.

“The Hanged Man,” Hawke said. “There should be guards who aren’t doing their duty or something. I don’t know how they’re involved, but Bran said to check it out and it’s all we’ve got.”

Fenris’ hand hovered near hers for just a second, then he moved and gave her a single pat on the shoulder. “Let us go, then.”

Hawke caught his eyes. There was still tenderness, always when he looked at her. She would have hated to see them turn cold, but there was something about the warmth she didn’t like either. Because it wasn’t all just kindness. There was still the sorrow of apologies behind his gaze, and regret. She didn’t want that. He was already forgiven.

Hawke moved away, despite herself. Distance. Yes, a little distance might be good. Though Anders had other motivations in saying what he did, she could have made this decision without Fenris. Come here without him. She would have had a harder time of it, maybe, but she wouldn’t have to feel like she was guilt tripping Fenris just by existing.

Hawke could, one day, accept that Fenris was done with her. But she would never accept a reality in which he wasn’t as happy as he possibly could be, given their circumstances. If she was part of the problem, perhaps removing herself a little more, just for a while, would be worth trying.

If only she knew how.

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline was Captain of the Kirkwall Guard, and these men were her responsibility. However it was they were involved, she was going to get to the bottom of it. Then she would either whip their asses into shape, or they’d be out. It all depended on the seriousness of the offense. Considering this involved the disappearance of Qunari delegates, Aveline knew it was of the utmost importance, and thus incredibly serious.

Their man was not terribly hard to find. He was talking loudly about his splendorous good fortune. Aveline noted the heavy sack of coins he hoisted in his hand. Yes, good fortune, indeed. He’d sold his honor, just as Bran had said.

“A lot of coin for this place,” Anders said.

“That’s right! Tonight I am paid and blessed. And all I had to do was turn my head!” the man cheered.

Aveline remembered him. Orwald. Never the best work ethic but he was observant. Good for calmer areas of the city. He was often late to his post but stayed the whole time. Always let someone know if he saw anything out of sorts. Which was rare.

“How about a drink? My treat! I’ve already bought a couple bottles for my friends over there!” Orwald said. He was looking at Hawke. Actually, it was more of a leer. “I know important people, too. Ones who are helping to show Kirkwall what we ought to do with heathen oxmen!”

Aveline was going to enjoy watching his smile fall. She didn’t always take pleasure in the harsher parts of her job, but when someone deserved it as much as Orwald did, it would be a pity not to appreciate this moment of humiliation. Aveline stepped forward, placing herself between Orwald and Hawke.

“Guard Captain?!” Orwald shouted, stumbling back a bit. His back hit the counter’s edge as his sack of coins fell on the floor and spilled across it. Aveline took the chance and pushed him back against the counter again as he tried to bounce back.

“Who?” she demanded.

“What?”

“ _Who?!_ ” Aveline said, employing her most commanding tone. “Who bought you?! Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a drunken mabari bitch?”

“Damn, Aveline,” Hawke muttered.

Right, Hawke didn’t usually do intense. Aveline saw no reason to back down. In fact, Hawke’s concerned awe only added to the intimidation. People knew her. Knew Hawke was strong and capable of her own right. To see her intimidated, even a little, might resonate with these fools. Aveline wasn’t proud of it, but she would use the advantage her nervous friend gave.

“I don’t… I don’t know!” Orwald said, fumbling over his words.

The bar around them was still bustling. It wasn’t a bizarre enough scene to draw too much attention. Though Aveline heard a single laugh from Varric on the far side of the room. Even uninvolved for the moment, he was taking the chance to enjoy the show.

Though her other senses were free to wander a little, Aveline’s gaze was fixed hard to the quivering man before her. Her brows furrowed, her nostrils flaring in a show of anger. He knew what she wanted. All he had to do was confess.

“He was a templar!” Orwald said, bending. “I swear! He...he had the seal of the Grand Cleric and everything!”

That...wasn’t what Aveline was expecting. Anti-qunari zealots were one thing, but templar involvement? What in Thedas was going on? To involve even Elthina...that had to be a lie. There was no way the Grand Cleric would abide by something that would provoke the Qunari, regardless of whatever personal feelings she might secretly harbor towards them.

“It’s true!” Orwald insisted.

Aveline faltered, loosening her grip and backing away. Orwald took the first chance he got to stumble sideways out of her grasp. He breathed heavily, rubbing his neck around the place where Aveline had been holding his shirt.

Orwald was a fool, but otherwise he was a good man. Did his job. If this was the work of the templars, or even one rogue element, it was reasonable that he’d think he should answer to them, in the chain of command. Awful as it was, sometimes the templars and the Chantry outranked Aveline.

“The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning,” Aveline said. Her eyes were ice as she gave him one last look over.

Orwald fled as soon as he worked up the nerve to move his legs.

Aveline rolled her neck, then turned to Hawke. “There’s your answer. A templar.”

“That was… Are you alright?” Hawke asked.

“You don’t see this most of the time, Hawke. This is another part of the job. Without discipline, these idiots would be far worse. As it is… This is a special circumstance,” Aveline said.

Hawke had been right. It was too late to take back the information Aveline had shared with the templars about Emeric and his investigation. Even if she hadn’t, they would have found out. But she could have done better for Hawke. Softened the blow of the involvement of two different blood mages. It would be just another reason for them to hate apostates, even those who aided the people around them.

Even if this was a rogue element, what did that say of the Knight Commander? Meredith was known for her ruthlessness, for her dedication. But it seemed she was lacking in judgment. Orwald was a good guy at heart, Aveline believed that despite all she knew of him. Did Meredith think the same of her own men? Or did it go all the way back to her?

Thinking about it did them no good.

“The Grand Cleric’s seal, too,” Anders said. “I expected her to be involved in something, but not this.”

“And we have no proof his story was true,” Tyr pointed out.

“Still, if it’s all we’ve got…” Hawke said.

“Be smart about this, Hawke,” Fenris said. “You can’t go charging in accusing the Grand Cleric on the word of a drunk.”

“I know that!” Hawke said. “I...will think of something. Tomorrow morning. It’s been a long day already.”

“Don’t leave me out this time,” Varric said, laughing. “This is something I have to see for myself.”

Aveline shook her head. Varric was always in it for a story or a thrill. She wished he would take things a little more seriously. At least Fenris understood. Tyr seemed to as well, with his generally stoic nature, though he was close with Anders. He was a harder read.

“If that’s all for tonight, I should get going. Hawke, I’ll see you outside the Chantry. Don’t make me wait too long,” Aveline said.

“I will do my best,” Hawke said. It was as good as anyone would get out of her.

Fenris quietly joined Aveline on the walk back to Hightown. Hawke was going to stay and drink with Varric, as was expected. Fenris deciding not to say was unsurprising, considering. Aveline didn’t like to interfere in people’s love lives, mostly because she didn’t like others interfering in hers. So they’d never spoken about it.

It made her think of Donnic. Honestly, she was always thinking of him, usually in little ways. It was the moments where she thought _Donnic would love this_ or _I should tell him about this later_ or something vaguely reminded her of something Donnic had said. Aveline felt ridiculous for it, obsessing over him with this crush of hers without doing anything about it.

Hawke wasn’t much better! Pining for three years then giving up right after— No. That was undeserved. Things with Fenris were more complicated. Aveline just wanted them not to be, so her friends could be happy.

Because she wanted to consider Fenris as a friend.

“You know,” Aveline said, in part to simply fill the silence, “you should help train the guardsmen in Tevinter fighting techniques. Not that you owe me for how much work I do to arrange the patrols outside of your mansion, but you owe me.”

Fenris groaned a little, the sound barely escaping his throat, but Aveline heard it. “I would rather not.”

“Why not? You’ve a talent with your blade. Shouldn’t you put that skill to some good use?” Aveline said.

“My abilities were inflicted, not taught. I will not pass that on.”

Ah. Right. The situation under which he was taught to fight was quite different. The thought occurred that Danarius might not have granted him rest in healing from the process of putting on the lyrium tattoos before throwing him into training. How did Hawke deal with this anger on his behalf? Aveline figured it must have been overwhelming, and Fenris had opened up to Hawke more than anyone.

“Some good can still come of them,” Aveline said, trying to sound encouraging.

But Fenris shut her down in a word. “No.”

That was the end of that conversation. She only spoke one more time before she had to go her own way. “I was only joking about you owing me. It’s extra work, but you’re… I consider you something of a friend, Fenris.” Then she paused and added, “Besides, Hawke would run to me screaming if anything ever happened to you.”

Maybe that made it less personal, but she noticed how mentions of Hawke made him soften, if only slightly. Fenris trusted Hawke, cared for Hawke… Loved Hawke? Aveline could only hope. If those two could make it work, surely she could sort out her own love life with Donnic.

Fenris nodded. “I am...not accustomed to having friends. Nor having favors done without something done in return.” He paused, like he wanted to say more, but just bid her a quick “Goodnight, Aveline,” and left.

He was a mystery, that one. Aveline sighed, certain Hawke understood him a little better than she ever could. She’d thought her offer was charitable, giving Fenris a chance to use his skills positively outside of killing bandits or vicious wild creatures. Really just the chance to do something besides kill things.

Aveline returned to her desk before sleeping to review reports from the guards. Most were dull, same old same old. But when she got to Donnic’s, she always paused and read it like it was poetry. She wouldn’t say he was a skilled writer, but Aveline could almost hear his voice saying, “10 o’clock, broke up fistfight in Lowtown marketplace. Started over haggling dispute. Customer taken in, tried, and fined. Stall owner given a fine and a warning.”

None of it was at all titillating, but Aveline felt a little warmer for thinking of him. Something had to be done. Once this business with the Qunari was settled, she would ask Hawke to help. Maybe something with flowers? Those were soft and...romance-related. Aveline did like marigolds…

Before she could really contemplate that, she had to report Orwald and his little friends she’d seen at the Hanged Man. Ten days on the wall for the lot. Good. If that didn’t whip them into shape, nothing would.

The rest of the reports on the Qunari could wait until they figured out what was going on with the Grand Cleric. Surely Elthina wasn’t actually involved. Even if she _was,_ Aveline could not drag her name through the mud until there was undeniable proof. Whatever the next day lead to, Aveline had to be careful how she informed the Viscount.

✖✖✖✖✖

“...and we’re just going to waltz in and accuse the Grand Cleric of funding zealots?” Aveline said.

“Don’t forget the kidnapped Qunari,” Hawke noted.

Aveline sighed heavily. “Hawke, you know my position. Think of how this must look.”

“You can go if you want to,” Hawke said. “We’re just going to ask what she knows. It doesn’t have to come off as an accusation unless we let it.”

“Even with how I feel about Elthina, I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Anders said.

Hawke was about to demand that someone else come up with “a better idea,” but she spotted pristine white armor. Sebastian was so easy to find in a crowd, the way light reflected off of him. It wasn’t practical for an archer, in truth, but it was very princely. Maybe that was the reason he still wore it, holding on to a piece of his past.

“Hawke!” Seb said with a mix of delight and surprise at her approach. “I didn’t know you were coming to the Chantry today. Did you need help with something?”

“I’m looking for the Grand Cleric, actually,” Hawke said, peeking over his shoulders.

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

“Grand Cleric Elthina is quite busy, Serah Hawke. And she does not grant an audience to just anyone,” Petrice said.

“Not you,” Hawke said. She crossed her arms, wishing Hermes were there to sick him on her.

“You’ve met Mother Petrice, Hawke? You never mentioned her,” Sebastian said.

“Last we met I was a Sister,” Petrice said, cocky as she flaunted her elevated position. “Time has changed us both.”

“I wish you’d changed more,” Hawke mumbled. Then she cleared her throat, speaking more clearly, “Funny how you and issues with the Qunari seem to go together.”

“And are you to take their side again? I was naive when last we met. I did not want you dead, but I felt a death was necessary. That may be too fine a point for you to understand, but you must admit, you came out the better for it,” Petrice said.

Sebastian looked shocked by such a blatant admission from the Mother. Hawke wondered how much he knew of her. Surely no one who had spent two minutes with the woman could think her harmless or kind. Or anything positive, really.

“No thanks to you,” Hawke said, eyes narrowed. Besides the necklace to enhance her skills with the bow she used, she still kept Ketojan’s horn charm around her neck even now. It was tucked beneath her armor and hidden, but it was there, standing as a symbol for the things Hawke valued. “A Qunari delegate has gone missing. The longer we wait, the more chance it is we won’t get him or his guards back at all. And it turns out the Grand Cleric’s seal was involved in this whole ordeal.”

“Andraste’s holy flames,” Sebastian gasped. “That can’t be. Elthina would never involve herself in something like this.”

“Quite right,” Petrice said, appearing horrified as well. But her reaction was just that, an appearance. In her eyes there was no genuine feeling, and Hawke could see it. “That is quite the accusation. Ridiculous, of course. She leads a great many people, but not as a commander.”

“Perhaps, but there was a templar using the seal to convince others the act was righteous,” Hawke said.

Petrice paused.

“It seems like you already knew.”

“The Grand Cleric entrusts her stewards to enact the will of the Maker,” Petrice said.

“The will of the Maker would not be to incite violence against another, regardless of who they might be,” Sebastian said, his nostrils flaring.

“You may say that, but you were the one who used the Chanter’s Board to hire someone for your own personal vendetta,” Petrice shot back.

Hawke couldn’t tell if it was known in the Chantry that it was her and her friends who helped Sebastian in the first place. She didn’t care to make it so, if it wasn’t. It would only add fuel to _Mother_ Petrice’s flame.

“Oh, but kidnapping Qunari is okay? I doubt Elthina will feel the same way,” Hawke said.

Petrice muttered something under her breath, that Hawke could just make out. “Stubborn.” Yes, a perfect descriptor for Hawke, but not the point.

“Alright, Serah Hawke,” Petrice said, speaking clearly now, “if you won’t abandon this, let me offer you something. The templar you seek is a radical who has grown unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor. You may remember him as my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as...reconciliation.”

Petrice stepped forward. “There is a place in Darktown where he will be, tonight. Meet me there, just after dusk. You will know where it is by the streaks of gray paint on the walls. They’ll lead you down. I invite you, Serah Hawke, to see the unrest these Qunari you defend have inspired in the people of Kirkwall. We shall see if you remain on their side, at the end of this.”

Hawke made a face, but silently agreed to the arrangement. Sebastian remained at her side as Petrice left them, going about whatever duties she had for the day. He sighed heavily, the rest of them glaring daggers into Petrice’s back. If only they were real daggers. Or real enough that she at least felt the tips pricking her skin.

“So…” Tyr began. “Trap, right?”

“Almost certainly,” Fenris agreed.

“I’m skeptical, myself,” Aveline added.

“Good, we’re all in agreement,” Anders said.

Hawke sighed, turning to face them all. “It’s her game, for the moment. We play along. We’re better than her. I know that much.”

“Last time she fooled us, Hawke,” Aveline said. “It doesn’t do to underestimate her just because she’s some Chantry Mother.”

“Aveline is right, Hawke. I know these women well,” Sebastian said, “and Mother Petrice has always seemed rather crafty. She gets her way more often than not.”

“We’ve no other lead. It’s walk into a trap and maybe get something, or do nothing at all and _have_ nothing to show. I choose the former,” Hawke said.

“Then we’re with you,” Aveline said.

“Like we’d leave her to do something stupid and dangerous on her own,” Varric said, nudging Hawke with his elbow.

“Yeah, stupid and dangerous is my middle name!” Hawke said. While she and Varric laughed, the others shared a look. This was going to be an interesting night.

✖✖✖✖✖

They followed the gray paint, as they were told, but saw no sign of any Chantry Mother. Sebastian had come along, insisting that if something was really wrong with Petrice, his word would be more meaningful to the Grand Cleric. Hawke hoped serious accusations of any kind would be met with trust, but knew he had a point. Sebastian was known as an honest person in the Chantry. Elthina would listen to him more than she would anyone else.

When the gray paint trail ran cold, they stopped and waited. Then a voice sounded through the area, and Hawke bolted in that direction. They found Varnell and his rally. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to cause some worry. A little over twenty people had shown up, carrying weapons and cheering at the sight of four chained Qunari. Hawke could see the delegate and his guards had bloodied and bruised faces, their bodies not much better. The crowd threw things at them, including sharp stones and rotted fruit.

“Did they bring that all the way here, or was it provided for them by the templar?” Varric wondered aloud. Though it was said in jest, his tone was too angry for anyone to think of laughing. Honestly, they were all furious.

“Like any beast, remove the fangs and it is lost,” Ser Varnell said, his voice booming over the chatter of the crowd. They rose their fists and cheered at his words. “They are weak before the faithful of the Maker. The only certainty in their precious Qun is death before the righteous.”

“Oh, I’ll give them death,” Hawke half-growled. She started to nock an arrow, preparing herself to fire, but a voice halted her.

“Ser Varnell!” Petrice said. She came up from behind Hawke and her friends, announcing the presence of her group. No more chance of a sneak attack from Hawke.

“You have...the worst timing,” Hawke mumbled.

“Take a knee, faithful. The Chantry blesses us,” Ser Varnell said. He moved through the crowd, coming closer to Petrice.

“You claim a blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?” Petrice said. “You have brought wrath down upon you. Remember Serah Hawke?”

“Oh, good. Now you’re giving me even more attention. Usually I’d love that but read the room, Petrice,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes.

Petrice readily ignored the comment. “The Qunari have friends, templar. How will you answer their allegations?”

Hawke rose her bow again, aiming at Varnell. The crowd gasped, many of them stumbling out of the path of her arrow. There was no need; she would not miss. Though the dramatics of their fear worked well for her.

“Release those you have taken prisoner, or face a death that is swift and immediate,” Hawke demanded. “Or will you only fight those who have their weapons bound?”

Varnell grit his teeth and moved backwards, as if to free the delegate. But instead of pulling out a key, his hand moved at the last second to the pommel of his sword, drawing it up and slashing in an arc across the delegate’s chest.

Hawke loosed her arrow, which sank into Ser Varnell’s throat, but it was too late. The gash was large and blood poured freely from the Qunari’s body.

“No!” Hawke cried.

Many of Varnell’s supporters fled, dropping their weapons behind them for a quicker escape. Others stayed and fought. The worst of it came when, through the chaos, some moved in to slit the throats of the remaining three Qunari, killing them along with their charge.

Hawke saw red. This was so meaningless! It would not serve to get the Qunari out of the city! None of this would! All it would do was make an already irate Arishok more furious. He’d already said that if anyone other than her had brought him news of the kidnapping, it would have meant the beginning of a war.

This only put them closer to the brink.

Those too foolish or stubborn or proud to run fell at the hands of Hawke and her allies. The rest Hawke saw no point in chasing. There were too many of them, spread too far by now to really catch. When Aveline asked, Hawke ran a hand through her hair, lowering her head in defeat.

“It’s more important now that we get the Viscount and let him know what happened. This...this is a mess,” Hawke said.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and hoped that it was Fenris’, but she knew from the immediate firmness that it couldn’t be him. His hand was always soft first, then with a stronger grip once his confidence had a moment to grow. Hawke looked up and met Sebastian’s cool blue eyes instead. It was still a calming sight, even if it hadn’t been quite what she was looking for.

“The Viscount has already been informed. In case things went...as they did, I asked him to arrive an hour later than you,” Petrice said.

Hawke seethed, and was so tempted to turn her anger on Petrice, but Seb’s grip tightened slightly. He could feel the electricity running through her, telling her to lunge at the other woman. Satisfying as that might be, it wouldn’t be a good look with the Viscount on his way.

So they waited, Hawke making subdued conversation with Varric and Sebastian while Aveline kept Petrice from attempting to start something of her own. More for Petrice’s safety than Hawke’s. Aveline knew her friend could handle herself in a fight, but didn’t understand restraint all the time.

Anders and Tyr left before the Viscount came, not wishing their involvement to be any more clear to the wrong people. And Fenris milled about, pacing, studying his gauntlets, and brushing the dirt from his mostly bare feet. Sebastian kept looking over to him, but Fenris would calmly meet his gaze before shaking his head and pacing more.

The Viscount’s personal guards stormed in ahead of the man himself, swords drawn and ready for a fight that had already taken place. Hawke looked up, and simply pointed them at the bodies of the various rioters and the four Qunari. The guards held their swords out still, as if uncertain what this scene meant in regards to their duties.

“Put those away, men,” Aveline commanded. “At ease.” The Viscount’s guards were technically separate, but still trained and worked with the rest of Kirkwall’s guardsmen. They recognized her authority, trusted her judgment, and sheathed their blades.

“What has happened here?” the Viscount asked as he caught up. He saw the bodies and drew in a sharp breath. “Explain this to me, Mother Petrice.”

Hawke didn’t interrupt while Petrice explained. No, this time she knew it was best to leave that to Aveline, who clarified any part of the story that Petrice tried to lighten up or avoid. The Viscount had asked for Hawke, sure, but Aveline was Guard Captain. That held weight.

“Madness,” the Viscount said, shaking his head. His men had moved to dealing with the bodies while he was busy hearing out Petrice and Aveline. “Chantry involvement? Even if they are fringe elements… It could not be worse.”

“Her Grace had no knowledge of this affair. I trust that she will deal with it swiftly,” Sebastian assured him.

“Sir, if I may be frank,” Hawke said, carefully moving forward. She spoke softly, hoping only the Viscount would hear her words. “It was Petrice who told us where they would be. I can’t help but suspect she may be involved, somehow.”

“Is that so?” the Viscount said. “And she told these men to fight you?”

“No, I can’t say that,” Hawke said. “But isn’t it suspicious that she knew they’d be here at all?”

The Viscount looked over to Petrice, who was watching them intently. Her expression was tamed into a studious look, something more neutral than her usual pinched glare. Hawke saw the act for what it was, but could see the Viscount’s wavering uncertainty.

“A blasted mother...” he muttered, turning away from Petrice. “You have no idea the storm these allegations would cause. It could destroy what support I do have.”

“I’ve had trouble with her before. If there is any way to keep an eye on her…”

“Yes, I understand. I will make my inquiries where I need to, Serah Hawke. Gently. And you should take care with your associations. For now, we have other problems.” The Viscount looked down at the Qunari delegate, who they could tell apart by the helmet he wore. We have the delegate but...I can’t return the bodies to the Qunari in this state.”

“I wouldn’t give them the bodies, anyhow. Your son, Seamus? He told me when we rescued him a few years ago that once the person was dead they just considered the body as an...empty vessel, of sorts. It’s meaningless to them,” Hawke said.

The Viscount nodded thoughtfully, though he winced at the mention of his son. “Then we shall burn them, as is traditional with our own dead. But what of the Arishok? You know him. What would be appropriate to tell him? Or rather, what would be the _right_ thing to tell him?”

Hawke paused. This was not going to look good, not for anyone. The Chantry was already a hated thing among the Qun, and the Arishok had mentioned that he didn’t think highly of the Viscount. Not saying anything would be a poor choice, however, especially given that Hawke had brought it directly to the Arishok’s attention before.

Fenris said the Qunari respected honesty. Hawke knew that had to be the answer.

“Tell him the truth. He will see the value of that. Let him see the bodies first, before they are burned. Hiding this would only make it worse,” Hawke said.

The Viscount thanked her for her help, and went about his business. The rest, including Petrice, were dismissed. Petrice thankfully went her own way. Hawke didn’t want to walk all the way back to Hightown side by side with the woman.

She was restless even after small parting words with her friends. Aveline returned to the Keep, Fenris to his mansion, and Sebastian to the Chantry. Varric was long gone, his stop in Lowtown a shorter venture than the other three had to take. Hawke didn’t really want to be alone, but with the rest of the house either asleep or on their way to being so, she had to face the night by herself.


	29. The Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff going on this week so I didn't get to fully edit like I normally try to. Don't mind any weird repetitive phrases or any errors you see ><;;;

Aveline had told Hawke there was a matter “of the utmost importance” she needed help with, so Hawke came prepared with Isabela, Fenris, and Merrill in tow. Merrill had wanted to help out again for a while. In Fenris’ case Hawke had just wanted to see him more, awkward as things were. Isabela mostly just served as peacekeeper between the other two, since Fenris could get snippy around any of their mage friends. Hawke couldn’t always be there to stop them from fighting.

Aveline stared at the company Hawke had brought, like she was trying to figure something out, but shook her head and let it go. She seemed almost surprised by their presence, if Hawke thought about it, but that didn’t make much sense. Not if this was truly an important matter.

“So, where’s the fire?” Hawke asked with a smile.

“No fire, Hawke. I just need...a favor,” Aveline said. Her eyes were shiftier than Hawke had ever seen them. Actually, everything about Aveline seemed a little off.

“Um, yeah. Anything for you, but… Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Hawke. Don’t patronize me.”

“I wasn’t!”

Aveline stared, not believing Hawke, but again let this slide. “I need you to take this to Guardsman Donnic. He’s here, in the barracks. No questions asked, and he is not to know it’s from me.” She handed over a small box.

“Sure. Though maybe next time don’t use the words ‘utmost importance’ for something like this? I sort of thought there was something more dramatic going on. Like a kidnapping.”

“I’m sorry Hawke this is...strangely difficult for me. Please, hurry back with his reaction. I appreciate this, I really do.”

Hawke stepped into the hall and had the others check different rooms than she was to find Donnic. She remembered him vaguely from when they’d saved him a while back. His sideburns were particularly memorable, but he might have gotten rid of them. Hawke hoped she would even be able to recognize the man when she saw him.

“Found him!” Merrill shouted. Hawke hurried to join her, while the others sauntered in behind her moments later.

“Donnic!” Hawke said cheerily.

“Serah Hawke, good to see you,” he said. “It’s been some time. You’re living in Hightown now, right? I think the Captain mentioned it. I see your uncle now and then on my patrols. We...don’t talk.”

“I can’t blame you. It is Gamlen,” Hawke said. “But that’s not why I’m here. I have it on good authority that you’ll like this.”

Donnic took the box when Hawke held it out. He opened the lid to reveal what appeared to be a sort of coin. It was larger than any used as money, however.

“It’s a copper relief of...marigolds? Ah, and it helpfully says so: Marigolds. Well. How crafty,” Donnic said, looking back up at Hawke after examining the mystery gift. He did seem pleased by it, if confused. “Is there a meaning to this that I should know?”

“I figured you would tell me,” Hawke said. “Anyway, you should keep it. It’s...important. I’m sure of it.”

“If you say so,” Donnic agreed. “Right. I’m sure we both have things to do. Of varying import.”

Hawke took the blow, assuming Aveline would disapprove if she got snippy with one of her guardsmen. Particularly one she’d given some mysterious gift to.

“Is there some reason Aveline just made us look like idiots?” Isabela said dryly.

“I’m not seeing sense to this,” Fenris said.

Hawke figured they would simply have to find out. If Aveline wanted something out of this, maybe it would become clearer after speaking with her again.

It didn’t. Aveline was adamant that her gift should have made sense. “I thought it was clear. Metal is strong, copper ages well, and flowers are soft.”

Hawke just rose an eyebrow, her head tilted slightly. She cared for Aveline dearly, but this sounded mad. What was she getting at?

“I’ve clearly gone about this the wrong way. Don’t talk to him again. Just take this, the patrols for next week. Post it to the roster and just...listen,” Aveline said.

“To Donnic, I assume?” Hawke asked.

“Yes,” Aveline said. “But don’t talk to him!”

Hawke took a deep breath and went back to it. The other three stayed with her, hovering curiously. What would they hear that was so important? Guardsman Donnic was good at what he did. Aveline had mentioned something once or twice about him having caught some smuggler or criminal of some sort. She’d been so impressed. So delighted. What did that remind Hawke of?

“This is weird, right?” Merrill asked, as they crouched together just out of sight of the guards. Some had noticed that the patrols for the week were posted, and everyone was gathering to get a good look at where they would be.

“Definitely,” Isabela agreed. “Did she get hit in the head recently?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Hawke said.

Guards came and went, with varying reactions. Some were quite pleased to have easier posts in Hightown, where crime was kept to a minimum for all the stuffy nobles. Hawke supposed she was technically counted among those, but she refused to say she was stuffy. After all, she was crouching in the barracks with three of her friends, hiding to snoop on a guard. For some reason.

“Hey Donnic,” a female guard called back, “whose pucker have you been greasing to get Hightown?”

Isabela giggled. Hawke had to hit and shush her so they weren’t discovered.

“What? You’re daft. I’m working dockside on those smugglers,” Donnic said. He moved closer to the guard patrol list and squinted.

“Says here you’re guarding the square,” the other guard said, pointing it out to him. “Always been a make-work job, that one. You someone’s pet?”

“Check your eyes. It’s a mistake,” Donnic insisted. He turned away from scrutinizing the board, obviously frustrated.

“I doubt that was Aveline’s intended response,” Fenris whispered.

“Something is funny here,” Hawke said. “And not ‘haha’ funny.”

Dutifully they returned to the Guard Captain’s office and reported their findings. Aveline was even more distressed by this news than the reaction Donnic had to her odd gift. She was pacing, a bit red in the face and sweating. It was a bit of a warm day, but not enough for that, even with Aveline’s heavy armor.

“Donnic thinks I’m punishing him?” Aveline said. “But Hightown is a safe patrol. It’s a reward!”

“I guess the man likes a challenge. Which is a good thing, considering you need people like that for this city,” Hawke said. Just living in Kirkwall was a challenge. Serving it every day and trying to keep the people from destroying themselves along with their homes? Hawke couldn’t imagine the kind of masochist who would pick that job. Except that Aveline, that exact kind of masochist, was standing right in front of her. And Hawke did pitch in to help, sometimes, so she wasn’t fully exempt from that categorization.

Aveline sighed heavily. “Alright. I can fix this. I need… I need three goats and a sheaf of wheat. You’ll take them to his mother. It’s a dowry tradition. Perhaps it will smooth the process.”

“Don’t be silly. A dowry would only matter if you were courting him,” Merrill said.

Aveline gave her a hard look. “Merrill…”

The elven girl took a moment to think, then gasped. “You’re courting him!”

“With a fear reserved for dragons,” Fenris said, a small upward quirk to his lips.

“You’re sweet on the boy,” Isabela said. “Now all this awkward flailing makes sense.”

“So help me…” Aveline said, glaring at Isabela.

“Easy there, big girl. We’re here to help. Though it would be much easier if you just had it out here on this desk of yours. Looks sturdy enough for a tumble,” Isabela said, eyeing it.

Aveline could not have been more pink. Hawke had to salvage this. Sure her friends were well intentioned...probably, but this wasn’t helping Aveline through something that was clearly difficult for her. She needed a nudge, not a shove.

“You could have just told me,” Hawke said. “We’re friends. Of course I can help with this.”

“Before or after you stopped mocking me?” Aveline said.

“After,” Isabela said.

Hawke shushed her. “I have an idea. How about we all meet in the Hanged Man tonight? I’ll invite Donnic, warm him up a little, then you step in and sweep him off his feet! It will be way more comfortable there with a drink in your hand.”

“I don’t know Hawke. I’ve been focused on being Guard Captain so much that it’s all I know. All of this… It was a long time ago that I had Wesley. It was easier. Or seemed to be,” Aveline said. Still, she paused, clearly considering it. “Alright just...don’t tell him about me. Just get him there. He’s not like the others. I don’t want him to think he’s meeting the captain.”

“Drinks in a tavern. I doubt he’d say no to that!” Hawke said. At Aveline’s still nervous expression, she added, “I’ll even buy for him if it helps.”

Aveline nodded. “Thank you.”

Isabela smiled approvingly. “Going out and getting him drunk. Shame _is_ a great equalizer.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Donnic had been agreeable when Hawke talked to him earlier that same day. Now at night and at a table in the Hanged Man, he was fidgety. He kept looking around, like there should be someone else there. Hawke had fibbed and said there would be other guards there, figuring it wouldn’t be too hard to find one or two who had gone for a drink of their own accord. Yet, Donnic hadn’t said hello to anyone but Hawke herself.

She peeked behind him at the other table, where her friends were gathered. Anders and Tyr were apparently busy in the clinic, and Sebastian rarely appeared at the seedy location, but the rest were in attendance. Minus, of course, Aveline herself.

“There were supposed to be others, weren’t there?” Donnic asked.

“Guess they got busy,” Hawke said. “Want a drink? I’m buying!”

Donnic looked suspicious, but agreed. “One drink couldn’t hurt. But I really should get going after that. I need to speak with the captain about my post.”

“Oh I’m sure she has plans of her own. You two can talk in the morning,” Hawke said.

Donnic looked unconvinced, but took a mug of ale and started drinking. Hawke kept peering at the door while time passed, hoping to see Aveline’s orange head stepping through the door. What was she doing that was taking so long? Hawke had given her the right time and it wasn’t like Aveline didn’t know where the Hanged Man was, of all places. It was a usual haunt for them!

Maybe she had changed her mind on the offer Hawke had given to borrow some of the powdered pigments her mother kept buying. Orana had been a test subject a couple of times, even though she had a paler complexion and wasn’t the best basis for comparison. It was more about the fun of doing her up all fancy than to actually make sure a certain lip or eye color would look good on any of the Hawke women.

Minutes passed and they ordered another round. Hawke tried (and failed) multiple times at making conversation. Donnic just wanted to get out of there. She didn’t really blame him. Even when she finally spied Aveline through the nightly crowd of patrons, the Guard Captain seemed to just be staring over, then deciding against coming closer. She kept shaking her head, her lips moving as if muttering something to herself.

Hawke made a face. Donnic had finished a second serving of ale, which was impressive for the fact that he could stomach the swill served there. Under different circumstances, he might have just been a fun guy to drink with.

“So uh, how about Aveline? She’s great, isn’t she?” Hawke said, trying yet again to make small talk. And maybe hearing her name uttered from across the room would actually summon the redhead close enough to say hello.

But apparently, Donnic wasn’t having it. “Look, if this was just an attempt to get closer to me through the captain, you’re just not my type. All this playing shy business? I like a little backbone.”

“Woah,” Hawke said. “No. No no _no,_ you severely misunderstand. I have…had someone. I— My love life is a complex enigma of pain that you do not wish to be entangled in. You should be grateful I’m not interested in you. I’m probably cursed!”

That was overstating things, sure, but she needed to be clear. And she really did not want anyone else in the tavern getting the wrong idea. Especially not someone with white hair and lyrium tattoos. Or another person with red hair and a frighteningly good right hook.

Guardsman Donnic just looked all the more confused. He was already standing, edging away from the table. “Thanks...for the drinks, Serah Hawke, but I should go.”

Hawke didn’t bother trying to stop him. Aveline was hiding out in some dark corner out of sight, coming nowhere near the table anytime soon. Hawke just let her head fall onto the table. So much for a nudge. Hawke was ready to shove Aveline, this time.

“Corff,” she called, “something stronger, please?”

It was Aveline who appeared a minute later with Ferelden bourbon. Now that would do the trick.

“What happened?” Hawke asked. “You just wandered around going everywhere but here!”

“I...I couldn’t do it,” Aveline admitted. “What did he say?”

“He thought _I_ was making a pass at him,” Hawke said. She poured a bit of the bottle into her glass and threw it back quickly. She needed to be drunker than she was for this. She needed to be drunker about ten minutes ago.

“I’m an idiot,” Aveline said, shaking her head.

“Well… Not entirely?” Hawke said. “You did leave me here to drown though. Not his type… He’s not _my_ type!”

The others were coming in closer, now that Donnic was gone. Fenris kept looking at the door, or anywhere other than Hawke. How much had he heard from their vantage point?

“I know that, Hawke. Though I can’t say I’m not relieved he wasn’t actually interested in you.” Aveline put a hand to her head in shame. “I need to talk to him, but I’m a mess unless I’m on patrol. I’m good at that. Killing highwaymen doesn’t provide an intimate setting though. And I’m tired of embarrassing myself.”

“Here come the excuses,” Isabela said, rolling her eyes.

“Shut up,” Aveline snapped. But Isabela remained unbothered.

“So I’ll clear the way. We take out any unsavory people lingering about, and you are free and clear to just talk with Donnic,” Hawke said.

“And force you to face any danger we might encounter?” Aveline said. “That only makes it worse.”

“You’re squandering something you don’t understand,” Fenris said. Hawke was surprised by the intensity of his words. Was that really about Aveline?

She refocused her attention. Wherever Fenris’ head was, Hawke’s had to be here, helping her friend. “You’ve seen me handle myself against Qunari, mages, highwaymen, bandits, demons, and abominations. Trust me, I’ve got this. Besides, you’ve gotten me involved. I’m going to see this through to the end and fix this.”

Aveline’s brow furrowed slightly. She wasn’t really happy about it. “Very well, Hawke. You pushed. You clear the route up the Wounded Coast and I…will live to regret this, I’m sure.”

They arranged a signal to let Aveline know when to proceed to each point. Hawke made sure the two of them were speaking in private, since Isabela seemed determined to mock her. Aveline was nervous enough as it was, and didn’t need the help.

“Before I go, can I ask… How do you do it with Fenris? Or how did you before all of that happened between you two? I know you, Hawke. You get nervous, too. But you managed to move past it,” Aveline said. “How do you do it and then deal with all the danger in your lives?”

Hawke leaned back, stealing a glance. Fenris was already looking over at her, which made the both of them immediately turn back away. She wouldn’t read into that. She wouldn’t. Of course, she did, and thought of it hundreds of times after that night. But Hawke put her attention to Aveline, for just that moment.

“We might not be the best example?” Hawke said. “I don’t know. Other times it was harder but with Fen it was just… Things felt right. Fell into place. I felt safe enough and knew he was more important than any fear or hesitation I might have had. So I just went with it. Kept going. Then…” The rug got pulled out from under her.

“I’m sorry, Hawke. I really did hope you two would make it work. You make him happier,” Aveline said. “I think he needs that.”

“Could we maybe stop talking about this?” Hawke said, wringing her hands.

“You’re right. I’ll set up the patrol for the late afternoon. Stop by earlier in the day so you know when to leave. And be certain you have help with you.”

“I know, I know.” Hawke shook her head. “We will be fine. You just focus on your part of this.”

Aveline swallowed. “That’s exactly what worries me.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Why were there so many of them? Hawke talked a big game, and certainly could back it up when pressed, but this was just ridiculous. Was there some kind of big highwaymen meeting on the coast Hawke hadn’t known about?

Isabela was just tired of sweating like this. In other situations, a little sweat was just a sign you were doing something right. Here she just wanted her hair to stop sticking flat to the back of her neck. She watched Hawke, ever prepared with a brand new ribbon for her hair. Isabela hadn't seen this one yet. It was olive green instead of the red that remained tied around Fenris’ wrist at all times. If Isabela wasn't such a good friend, she'd tell him to let her borrow it so she could use it on her own hair.

Thankfully, Merrill was prepared with something that she could lend. Isabela blew her a kiss in thanks while Merrill skipped back beside Hawke. They scouted ahead as stealthily as they could, while Isabela and Fenris took care of the signal to Aveline.

Fenris was grumpier than usual, which was impressive. Isabela would have blamed the heat, but for the lack of sweat. He did come from Tevinter, where things were quite warm. Isabela had been gone too long from the heat of Rivain and grew used to colder Ferelden and the weather on a ship.

“What's got you all sour faced? Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” Isabela asked.

Fenris didn't acknowledge her. The signal smoke went up and he straightened up. Then he looked at Isabela.

“We should move on,” he said.

“Oh, come on Fenris. I know that look. You're thinking about Hawke. What's happened this time?” She had her hands on her hips. They had to leave before Aveline caught up, but Isabela wasn't letting Fenris go without talking to her. So she blocked the way.

Fenris exhaled slow in an acceptance of his defeat. “Did she really seem...interested in Donnic?”

Isabela snorted. No, Hawke definitely had not looked like she cared one bit about the guardsman Aveline was all hot for. For a detective, Donnic wasn't good at reading signals from women. But Isabela saw an opportunity here. It had worked to push Hawke forward, years ago, and it could work on Fenris now.

“Perhaps she didn't find Aveline’s beau attractive, but there are plenty of men out there who would be glad to have Hawke.” Then Isabela gestured to herself, adding, “And women. I've caught her looking once or twice, and if she offered I don't think I would want to turn her down.”

Fenris just kept that neutral expression, his eyes calm as ever. “No reason you shouldn't, if it's what she wants.”

Isabela gaped. Had he called her bluff, or was he really alright with that. “Oh come off it. I know it would bother you.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said, moving past her. “But what I feel in this matter is unimportant.”

Damn! He had been jealous of Anders before, hadn't he? What was different now? Had he really given up? Did he no longer care for Hawke?

“Aveline is catching up,” Fenris said, without even peeking back. “We should reach the next point.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Enough was enough. Hawke watched from a distance as Aveline made sloppy conversation about the weather and _smithing,_ of all things. “Nice night for an evening.” Maker. Hawke really was better at this than her, which was impressive considering how bad Hawke was at it!

“Come on. We’re putting an end to this,” Hawke said, waving the other three along.

“So I’m going to bed the man?” Isabela said.

“Is that always your go to for problem solving?” Hawke asked.

“Evidently,” Fenris said.

They made their way onto the road, waiting while Aveline and Donnic came down the hill on the other side of things. Hawke crossed her arms, waiting while Aveline continued to talk about something that had to do with “guardsman ethics.” Definitely not the kind of flirting or foreplay they had hoped she’d get to eventually.

“Well, Guardsman, good patrol. I think we’re… oh. Hawke! What a surprise. What are you doing here?” Aveline said, laughing nervously.

“Aveline,” Hawke said, fixing her a disapproving look.

“Hawke, don’t,” Aveline said, holding up a hand.

“We don’t have all night, you know,” Hawke insisted.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Donnic asked. He looked from Aveline back to the group, not sure who he should expect to confess the truth. The expression he gave to his captain did not inspire confidence.

“She wants you. It is pathetic...and admirable,” Fenris said. He and Hawke shared a brief look.

“You two are adorable,” Merrill said. “Kiss him already!”

“Yes, take a hint and bend him over a basin, will you?” Isabela insisted.

Aveline looked somewhere between wanting to kill them and wanting to kill herself if only to escape the situation. Donnic was red as a tomato, picked fresh off the vine and squashed underfoot. While Aveline let out more nervous laughter, Donnic was becoming stiff as stone, squaring up his shoulders and shaking his head.

“I...should get back to the barracks,” Donnic said. He gave a weak salute, mumbling “Captain,” before escorting himself out of the situation entirely.

With him out of sight and earshot, Aveline was ready to charge. Or Hawke thought she would be. Instead her eyes lowered like she might cry instead. Somehow that outcome was far worse.

“I thought we were friends,” Aveline said.

“We are,” Hawke said. “But if we hadn’t pushed, you would be going home as disappointed as ever. At least now he knows.”

“You don’t understand Hawke, I have to fix this. He could file a complaint. Ask for a transfer! There was a reason I needed to do this delicately, not just because of how I felt,” Aveline said. “And _you_ are coming to the barracks with me right away to explain why you put him on the spot.”

“To say what?” Hawke asked.

“Double time, Hawke, or so help me…” Aveline said, not bothering to answer the question. She started to charge ahead, after Donnic and into Kirkwall. Hawke spared only one glance back to the others before hurrying after her, trying to keep up. Fenris, Isabela, and Merrill followed suit, though slowly fell back from Aveline and Hawke, not as determined to stay with them.

“I’m sorry, Aveline. I really thought—”

“Enough, Hawke. I have to head this off before it goes to the viscount. Guardsman Donnic could say that I harassed him, or abused my privileges as captain to get him alone with me. And it wouldn’t even be a lie, not really. I shouldn’t have done this. Why did I listen to you?” Aveline said.

“Come on, Aveline, it’s not like you did something really bad.”

“But I did! He could have been on his usual patrol around the docks. Or handling a lyrium smuggling group we’ve been tailing through Darktown. He’s a good guardsman. I should have been using his talents where they were needed and instead I took him out to the coast and for what?”

“If it really goes bad I’ll tell them it was a prank!” Hawke insisted. “Blame it on me, please. I’ll take the fall I don’t care. I have nothing to lose but I don’t want you suffering over this crush either.”

“It isn’t a crush!” Aveline said. She stopped for a minute, just on the edge of the city’s entrance. “I really truly like him, Hawke. He may not be the most handsome, or even the most suave or charming… But he’s special. He’s important to me for who he is and I’ve ruined it all.”

Hawke waited with Aveline, who was holding back tears to the best of her ability. Hawke stepped forward and gave her a gentle hug, loose enough that her friend was able to back out at any time. Maybe she hadn’t turned to Aveline when her heart was broken, but Hawke knew that Aveline would have done this for her if she had. Aveline deserved a friend in her time of need. Someone that was actually understanding and kind.

“I’m sorry if I rushed things,” Hawke said. “I just didn’t want you to be alone when you clearly wanted more.”

“It’s alright, Hawke. I know what you meant to do. But maybe it’s better if I just focus on being Captain of the Guard. It’s enough responsibility and keeps me busy… Even if this had worked out what kind of relationship could I have had?”

Hawke pitied Aveline, but didn’t try to argue. What she was saying was not true, not really, but it was a way for Aveline to comfort herself. To say this just wasn’t meant to be. Hawke didn’t believe that, but maybe Aveline needed to, for now.

They continued their walk to the barracks. The guards at the gate noted that they’d seen Donnic through not an hour before, looking rather serious. Aveline seemed all the more dismayed.

“I’ll have to make a formal apology. That way the guards know they can still trust me,” Aveline said.

“They’ll understand. You’re their captain, not a golem. They expect you to have feelings,” Hawke said.

“Not if they get in the way of the job.”

“You don’t know that they would have.”

“I won’t be stupid again,” Aveline said, harder this time. That was the end of that discussion. More definitively because they had reached the Viscount’s Keep. A quick trip up the steps then to the right and down again, and they were at the barracks.

Donnic was already leaned against the wall next to Aveline’s office. He stood straight when he saw the two of them approach. Hawke watched his eyes fixate solely on Aveline. She thought she might have imagined the way his pupils dilated and his cheeks pinked. Wishful thinking, surely.

But he noticed Hawke a moment later and somewhat broke the spell. “My apologies, Serah Hawke, but I need a moment with the captain,” Donnic said.

“Guardsman Donnic?” Aveline said. She hesitated, looking between him and Hawke.

“Please,” he said.

Hawke nodded in approval. It was time they talked this out. If Aveline was right and all was lost, it would be over, and she could grieve. But if she was wrong…

The two stepped into the room together. For the first few minutes there was hushed talking, which was torture for Hawke. She couldn’t hear a word, not without grabbing a glass and leaning her head against the door. She’d heard that worked from Varric, but he might have been lying. Still, it was tempting to try.

Fenris appeared a bit later, bowing his head slightly to Hawke as he approached. “Isabela and Merrill already left. I thought I ought to...check in, with Aveline. To make certain she was alright. I was uncertain whether you would be here or not.”

“She’s in there with Donnic now,” Hawke said, gesturing at the closed door. “It was nice of you to come.”

He looked away, as if embarrassed by the fact that he was caught doing something kind for someone. “It is a difficult time to be alone.”

Hawke’s lips parted. _Were you?_ She’d not considered it much. He had been the one to break her heart, but he must have hurt, too. Who had been there to help him pick up the pieces? Had anyone even offered? Everyone that he knew was a friend of Hawke’s, and they had circled around her like friendly, love vultures. ...not her best analogy, but still. It pained her to consider how alone Fenris might have been in that time apart. How alone he had been for much of his life.

Before she could say something or reach out to him, Hawke was interrupted by a fit of muted giggles. It came from behind the door, and sounded a lot like Aveline. It came again moments later, with Donnic’s deeper chuckles added into the mix. Hawke turned red and stumbled back.

“I think...things will be alright,” Hawke said.

Fenris cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, I believe you are correct.”

They waited a moment more, the noises behind the door only increasing the awkwardness between them.

“Maybe we should...give them some privacy?” Hawke said.

“I don’t believe our help is required any longer,” Fenris agreed.

They walked out together, then down the steps, then to Hawke’s front door. Neither of them said a word, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Not entirely anyway. Hawke just thought about Aveline and Donnic. They’d made it work, and would surely continue to. Even with the madness in their lives and in Kirkwall.

So when Fenris bid her goodnight and made his own way home, Hawke just waited a moment to watch him go. Because maybe love didn’t have to end in disaster.


	30. Love of All Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second section starts off with some NSFW stuff.
> 
> Sorry this is a little late! I was out seeing Black Panther a second time because that movie is _so good._

Leandra did love her trips to the market, and sometimes Hawke made time to come along. It was nice finding things for friends of hers, or even picking out meals and making sure Bodahn didn’t make pickled _anything_ ever again. She made sure to stop by the weird book salesman whenever she could, just in case something else caught her eye to give to Fenris. His reading was coming along well enough that she thought something to celebrate might be nice.

She picked out a book of Ferelden poems. Half of them were about dogs, which Hawke loved. Fenris probably would too, knowing how much he and Hermes got along. Hawke could even bring her mabari the next time she visited, and have Fenris try reading one to him. Hermes might not understand the nuances of poetry, but it would be fun.

After that, Hawke got distracted by a rather boisterous salesman by a stand selling armor. His heavy Orlesian accent was enough to draw attention, but he was also holding up items and proclaiming what miraculous and splendid pieces they were. “Magnificently enchanted” and “famed previous owners” were high selling points for him.

“And who could turn down a shield like this?” he declared. It was green, so Hawke did kind of like it, but other than that it was nothing special. A bit worn, and in the shape of a fleur de lys. Classic Orlesian decor, but sort of awkward to see a shield constructed like that.

“Crafted from the bones of an ancient dragon, this shield has been in the hands of one of the most skilled chevalier ever to exist. The famous Ser Aveline herself held this as she fought, undercover, in the Grand Tourney! A story known throughout Thedas as a grand show of courage and the power of women!”

Hawke bolted forward. The name had her attention more than anything. Whether she believed it or not, it seemed like destiny. She’d not gotten anything for Aveline yet, and this would be _perfect._

“How much for it?” Hawke asked.

“Now, normally a piece like this would be hundreds of sovereigns. But as it has been in my family for generations, I have decided to part with it with someone who looks truly worthy, for the low, low price of fifty sovereigns,” he said.

“I’ll give you twenty, and I won’t point out that it can’t possibly be dragonbone due to the particular sheen near the brand new engraving,” Hawke said with a grin.

“I...you can’t prove—!”

“What? Ser Aveline carved that herself in case she ever lost it?” Hawke said.

“ _Enculer,_ ” he mumbled. “Fine. Twenty sovereigns. But I never want to see you at my stand again.”

“Wise decision, my friend. Have a lovely day,” she said with a wink. It was still an impressive shield, and Aveline would probably get a kick out of it. Besides, Hawke had been meaning to bug her about Donnic for a few days by then. It was about time she paid the redhead another visit.

She let Leandra know that she was heading over to the barracks, which earned her an eyeroll. “Be nice to Aveline,” Leandra said. “Let her be happy.”

“I will! Just a little light teasing, I promise,” Hawke said.

She would have skipped her way to the Viscount’s Keep, but there were stairs and the shield was fairly heavy. Hawke guessed it must have actually been silverite, which would carry the sheen that it had and given it the heft. Why the guy felt the need to exaggerate when silverite was a well known, high class material was beyond her. Still, that meant she’d get utility out of what was still a pretty expensive purchase.

Well, if Aveline wanted to use it. Though Wesley’s was long since mounted in the Guard Captain’s office as a memento of a different life, it still was no guarantee that Aveline would like this new one. It was kind of large and oddly shaped. Then again, what did Hawke know about shields?

If she had to trade weapons with Aveline for a day, they’d both be utterly lost. Hawke’s arms might even fall off from the added weight. The tension of a bowstring required a different sort of strength.

The door was already open, while Aveline went over some papers. She’d mentioned once that she liked to do this when she was able to let guards know they were welcome to come to her when issues arose. Some things were too important to wait for knocking. It also made certain that people understood that when her door was closed, anyone on the other side had better knock. Otherwise, they would need mercy from Aveline and the Maker himself.

“How’s it going?” Hawke said, sliding in with grace.

“Oh, Hawke, good to see you,” Aveline said. She was beaming. _Beaming._ It was only days ago that she’d entered that same office with Donnic and she was still glowing. It was a good sign.

“I’ve been meaning to ask how things went with Donnic, after I left?” Hawke said, playing it cool.

“He did not file a report,” Aveline said. “I don’t know how to thank you, Hawke. Without you I really would have… Was there ever a moment you thought I was beyond saving?”

“What? No. Just in need of lots of pushing.”

Aveline rose a brow, not believing that in the slightest, but let it slide. “What’s that on your back? Don’t tell me you’re changing your fighting style again.”

“Nope! This is for you, actually. Check the inscription,” Hawke said, passing the shield over the desk. Aveline stood to take it properly.

Aveline stared at it for a moment, then read aloud, “ _Borne by the one true Ser Aveline._ ” She practically threw it down on her desk, sending some papers flying out. “Lovely. Thank you.”

Hawke blinked. “I...did something wrong, somehow. I don’t know what, but I’m sorry. I just heard the guy in the marketplace saying your name and well… I thought of you. But this was clearly a mistake.”

“I had a good shield once. That belonged to Wesley. You helped me mount it there, so you must recognize its importance. You said I should cherish that past, but also let myself move on from it, isn’t that right?”

“I just wanted to do something nice. Maybe get a chuckle out of you from how clearly fake the inscription is. I’m sorry,” Hawke said.

Aveline sighed, sitting back down. She gestured to a chair behind Hawke as she did so. Hawke pulled the chair closer to the desk so she wasn’t moving far away from her friend. This was a discussion that deserved her full attention, clearly. Hawke made sure to close the door as well, before sitting.

“It isn’t about the shield, Hawke. Nor is it about Wesley. I have moved on, with Donnic. But I’ve also been thinking a lot,” Aveline said, lacing her fingers together. “You’ve got me doing a lot of things. Some I don’t agree with. Some I’m surprised I do. I’m not sure where I’m going as it is. Replacing who I was with this… I mean, who is Ser Aveline to me?”

“If you don’t like the name, then who was the one who chose it for you?” Hawke asked.

“It was a wish my father made,” Aveline said. “I am similar to what he pictured, but that’s because of what I try to be, not what I assume I should. Ser Aveline was a fine figure, but I don’t revere failure, however glorious.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Hawke said. “I guess it was foolish to immediately think of you. Of course they sell stuff that ‘Ser Aveline’ had. Just as they’ll tell people they’ve actually got a pinch of Andraste’s ashes to cure all illnesses! Especially after what happened with Arl Eamon. I just wanted to get something for you, as a friend.”

Aveline relaxed. “No, I appreciate the intent.”

“Then accept it for what I meant, nothing more.”

Aveline studied the shield before her, running gloved fingers over the surface. “It is a fine shield. Silverite?”

“I think so. The seller claimed it was dragon bone, but that has more of a golden look when smithed. And a duller sheen,” Hawke said.

Aveline smirked. “That’s a good eye. Have you actually learned from the times I’ve explained smithing to you?”

“One of Fenris’ books, actually. We read together, and one time I picked up one on smithing in hopes I could keep up with you. I admit, for most of it I was still lost. But I learned enough to become a discerning buyer!” Hawke said.

Aveline laughed. “You also were smart enough to know this didn’t actually belong to Ser Aveline.”

“Well it does now.”

They talked for a few minutes more, mostly about Donnic, a bit about Fenris until it was clear the topic was still difficult for Hawke. Not as much, not nearly, but enough that her hesitance was clear. Then, Hawke stood. She had made plans with Varric for later that same day and didn’t want him to tease her about being late.

“We should do this again, sometime,” she said in parting.

“Definitely,” Aveline agreed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Isabela did not like to sweat, when out in the heat and fighting. But she didn’t quite mind it when she was in bed with someone, only sweating from the throes of passion. Merrill was a fast learner, and liked to give frequently. This time, however, the elven girl was on the receiving end, letting Isabela practice her handiwork on her nether regions.

Merrill squirmed as Isabela curled her fingers in that “come hither” motion. She moved her hand just so to tease Merrill’s entrance as well. With the free hand, she massaged Merrill’s breast.

“Oh,” Merrill gasped. “Do the thing you did last time?”

“Which thing, kitten? I’ve done so many to you, it’s hard to remember,” Isabela said. She was sure she knew exactly what Merrill meant, but it was fun to make her say it. Besides, then she wasn’t accidentally touching her where she didn’t want it, and spoiling the mood.

“The bit...from behind?” Merrill said. She still managed to be a little sheepish, even when fully exposed and with her lover’s fingers buried inside of her. It was sweet.

At least Isabela thought so. Isabela kissed her lips and sucked on her tongue while her hand repositioned. She’d just been experimenting, the last time, but Merrill hadn’t mentioned how much she’d enjoyed it. So Isabela would do it proper, and maybe see if she couldn’t get a couple of her fingers in, as well.

It didn’t take long after that switch for Merrill to tremble and scream. Her sex clenched around Isabela, then released when she fell back, sated. Isabela slowly removed her hand, wiping it against the sheets, then kissed Merrill again, more sweetly than before. It was so nice to kiss her. It was so nice to be in her company. Whether they were in bed or just sitting together, with tea or brandy.

They lied side by side, Isabela playing with Merrill’s little mop of hair. She had her braids out, since they’d learned the bands sometimes tugged in unpleasant ways when her head was pushed back against them.

Then Merrill sighed, and spoke suddenly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, kitten. Just remember, I never promise to answer truthfully,” she teased.

“Why do you even like me? I must seem so dull.”

That...wasn’t what Isabela expected. She was thinking it might be a question of how she’d learned about anal or why it could feel so good. Hoping for it actually, because maybe that would lead to another round of playful exploration. This was a much less comfortable subject.

“What brought this on?” Isabela asked.

“Your life has been...so exciting. The adventures, the duels, the passionate love affairs…” Merrill said, trailing off. “Compared to that, my life is a stale, dry biscuit. I wish I had your life.”

That shouldn’t have stung. Merrill had no idea what she meant in saying that, but Isabela could guess the intent. After all, it wasn’t like Isabela had actually opened up to the girl. Quite the opposite, actually. So the fact that Merrill mistakenly thought that Isabela’s life all was flash and glamour and excitement was really Isabela’s own fault. Not that she’d own up to it.

“No,” she said simply. “You don’t want my life.”

“Why?” Merrill asked. She was sitting up now, staring down at Isabela.

And Isabela hated that, so she sat up, too. “Because you have a good heart, and you deserve better.”

Merrill laughed. “Better than the life of a pirate?”

Isabela’s face fell. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t keep up the facade anymore. It was easy, even with Hawke. Even with Fenris. Especially with Aveline, who still thought her little more than a whore. At least she said it a few times. Enough to make it stick in Isabela’s mind. The insult itself couldn’t hurt her, but the judgment still did; just a little, somewhere buried.

“Better than my life before that, actually,” Isabela said. “There’s a reason I’m good at running. I had to start somewhere.”

“You’ve never talked about that before,” Merrill noted.

“No, I haven’t.” And she wasn’t going to. Maybe someday. To someone. The right person, whatever that even meant. Right now it seemed that Merrill was as close as a person could actually get to such a thing. But the subject of running reminded her there was still good reason to bolt.

“I don’t want to hurt you, kitten,” Isabela said softly, a hand on Merrill’s cheek. “I’m not the best person to tie yourself to.”

Merrill blinked, staring into Isabela’s eyes. “Is that a kinky thing, or…?”

Isabela laughed. “Not this time, I’m afraid. I just mean that I may leave someday soon. You’ve got a lot going on here, with your mirror and Hawke. I just don’t want you to be hurt when I decide to go.”

Merrill frowned, which broke Isabela’s heart a little. It was awful to do this to her, because despite it all, Isabela couldn’t get Merrill out of her thoughts. The more days they spent like this the worse it became. The word she so hated teased at the edges of her consciousness, but she never allowed it contemplation. Isabela threw herself into something and got her head to go quiet before she’d allow herself to think of love.

“Maybe I could...bring the mirror. And go with you. Hawke doesn’t really need me. I’d miss her, but we could always visit Kirkwall later and catch up. She’s still got Fenris and Aveline and Varric and Anders… Oh! And Sebastian!” Merrill said. Those big doe eyes of hers never left the other woman’s face. “You don’t need to be alone, Isabela.”

Uh oh. That beating in Isabela’s chest was not part of the plan. This was just for fun. Just something for the two of them to do as friends. She knew Merrill wouldn’t hurt her, not intentionally, but how could she stand it if Merrill didn’t want something more than what they had?

Isabela needed to find that damned book and get out of the city. Sell it and be rid of her troubles once and for all. Get a ship again, sail and be free. She would never be hurt again if the only person she ever lived for was herself.

“Maybe not,” Isabela said, lying. Merrill was wrong. Being alone was the safest thing Isabela could possibly be.

✖✖✖✖✖

A visit from Varric usually meant a fun night was ahead of Hawke, but she took one look at his face when she met him in the vestibule and knew that probably wasn’t what was in store. Something was wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but serious. Varric didn’t usually do serious. It was too...heavy.

“I’ve got some news,” Varric said. “You might not want to be near anything breakable when I tell you.”

“Is that a klutz joke or a prone to fits of anger joke? Because I’m not really the second, but I’ll take the first,” Hawke said.

“The second. I suppose I’m projecting based on my own reaction to hearing this for the first time,” Varric said. “I’ve had an ear out for Bartrand. After the Deep Roads, he ran to Rivain, probably because he knew I couldn’t track him. But I hear he might be back in Kirkwall. He called in loans from a few of his contacts in Hightown.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “That’s...huge. Where is he now?”

“I’m pretty sure he has a house here. Not terribly far from Fenris’ place. He must have come to Kirkwall because this is where all of his contacts are. Much easier to sell a weird trinket like he got when there’s people actually willing to buy it from you.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Me?” Varric said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My no-account, backstabbing brother is practically in arm’s reach! I couldn’t be better!”

“Right,” Hawke said. She knew from experience that Varric was a master of deflection. If she pressed, she’d get nowhere. Easier to not bother and save herself a little time. “So, what’s the next step here? Bust down the doors, give him a bit of payback?”

“Sounds like a plan. Bianca’s been missing him something awful,” Varric said, patting his crossbow.

“We should invite Anders and Fenris along. They got trapped by him too, if you recall,” Hawke said.

“Yes, maybe their mutual hatred of my brother will bring them together for once.”

Hawke was quick to change into her armor and grab her bow and a fresh set of arrows. Their first stop would be Darktown, since they’d have to wind back around to Hightown afterwards. Besides, the shortcut through the cellar deposited them right by Anders’ clinic, which made the trip that much easier to make.

It took a little longer than they anticipated to make the return trip, only because Tyr was really confused as to who Bartrand was or why Anders was so livid. Varric could never resist a good storytelling opportunity, and never quite figured out the meaning of a “short story.” There was a reason he did serial novels with many parts.

By the end, Tyr was also rather pissed. Bartrand had been willing to let Hawke and Anders die. Not to mention Varric and Fenris, though he cared a little less about those two. Nothing personal, he simply didn’t know them too well. Either way, he insisted on coming along.

“You should let him out more,” Varric joked, nudging Anders as Tyr geared up.

Anders flushed. “I’m not his keeper, Varric. He does what he wants to.”

“And clearly he wants to stay with Anders, who almost never leaves the clinic,” Hawke teased.

It was fun being on the other side of this. She’d done it with Aveline, but Anders was in a relationship, too. With Isabela and Merrill going strong, Hawke and Varric were two of the only people not dating. The third she didn’t feel much like acknowledging, because she didn’t really want to consider him having a romantic life. Not anyone other than her, at least.

But speaking of, Fenris’ house was the next stop. Hawke positioned herself to lean on the doorframe when he answered, pretending to be sultry and seductive. The fact that he still startled a little at that made her happier than she would ever admit.

“Want to kick a bit of dwarven ass?” she said, wiggling her brows.

“Has Varric wronged you?” Fenris asked, not missing a beat.

“Actually, my brother’s in town,” Varric said, popping up behind Hawke.

Fenris looked down at him, then took a deep breath. “I’ll get my sword.”

Varric was right about the house Bartrand was living in being close. It was hardly two steps from Fenris’ front door. The little sneak had been under their noses this entire time. Too bad Fenris didn’t ever try to get close to his neighbors, or they might have known sooner. Though it was probably for the best, because the rest of his neighbors were supposed to not know about him living there.

“Should we knock?” Hawke asked.

“I doubt he’d answer if he knew it was us. Why start being polite now?” Varric said. He kicked the door for emphasis, only to find that it was unlocked, opening the second he did that. “Huh.”

The group stepped inside, staring around. There was a layer of dust over everything, not heavy, but enough that it must have been untouched for a few days. Some tables and chairs were turned over, with stains in places that were not promising.

Or, if they were, they only promised something bad.

“I don’t get it… My sources saw people making deliveries here just a week ago. This...looks like it’s been empty for months,” Varric said.

Hawke eyed a cobweb nervously. Only partially because it meant spiders were nearby. “Maybe he’s just trying to make it look that way. To keep people out?”

“You’re thinking it’s a trap? Great. It’s been ages since my brother tried to kill me!” Varric said, shaking his head.

Further in, they started to find bodies. Fresh enough not to smell, or to have even reached the point of rigor mortis. They looked like random mercenary hirelings, some possibly part of the Coterie. What involvement they had in this was still a mystery, with the picture painted still no clearer.

It didn’t help to find that some of them were still alive and kicking. As soon as Hawke stepped through the door she was rushed by a man with a knife.

“Pretty blood… Hear the song. It’s so faint but I know you’ve heard it. I know!” the guard said, voice cracking as if he were in terrible pain.

“Fenris!” Hawke called. The man pushed his arm against her neck, choking her voice into a squeak. She grabbed at it in an attempt to pry him off.

Then he was wrenched away and thrown onto the ground. Fenris stood above him, the lyrium of his skin glowing. But he didn’t use his power to crush the man’s heart. He simply took the sword from his back and swung down.

“So close,” another guard murmured. “So close, but it’s not our song. Not the same.”

Hawke was still coughing, pulling herself back together. She managed to speak. “What are they on about?”

“Not a clue!” Varric said. He released a crossbow bolt into the next man’s neck. “But they don’t seem like they’re in the right mind to answer any of our questions!”

Tyr took out the other one, which cleared the room. They weren’t safe yet, however. There were surely more men, and Bartrand himself to deal with.

“They seemed to react to your tattoos,” Anders noted, looking at Fenris. “Is there any chance Bartrand is involved in lyrium smuggling?”

“Usually I’d say no, but who knows what my brother has been up to. He could have brought some back from the Deep Roads. But I don’t think he had the mining materials, or the time to dig any up.”

Whatever it was, they’d just have to find out. They continued further in, fighting as they went. This time Hawke was prepared with her bow, and didn’t allow anyone to catch her off guard. She fired at top speed, letting her aim suffer a little given the number of guards they had to face. Anders kept close, his spells allowing him to keep distance the way she did.

“You called for Fenris,” Anders said. The others were too far to hear.

“Out of habit,” Hawke insisted.

“Still,” he said, “he came for you the moment there was trouble.”

“Your point being…?”

“It was just something I noticed.”

Varric was running ahead. Hawke could worry about this later. Or never, preferably. She was getting tired of the subject always coming up. Even if that was mostly her doing. At least Anders hadn’t sounded hostile this time. Actually, he’d sounded almost impressed by the fact that Fenris still managed to have Hawke’s back.

Though she trusted any of her friends to do that.

Finally, they got all the way to one of the back rooms. It was one of only two left in the corridor, plus a door leading to the main hall.

They must have fought somewhere between twenty to thirty men just to get there, and there were still more coming at them. Tired as they were, they made quick work of the last few guards. Tyr and Fenris worked well together, it seemed. Having a sword versus an axe changed their fighting styles just enough that they had to work differently, but that made them good support for one another.

While Hawke and the others backed them up from afar, they carved through the remaining guards. They looked at each other when it was done, a bit of mutual respect passing between them.

“You fight cleanly. That a Tevinter thing?” Tyr asked.

“It all is, given that is what I learned. I’ve not seen many Fereldan fighters with the control you have, however,” Fenris said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tyr said.

“It was meant as one.”

“Boys, you’re both pretty, but we have my brother to find?” Varric said, moving past them and towards the final room.

Fenris and Tyr both flushed a little, which made Anders pout. He didn’t seem as pleased by their bonding as Hawke felt. He stomped forward and took Tyr by the arm, checking him for wounds. Hawke giggled quietly when she realized why Anders was so grumpy.

She let them be, going to join Varric as he searched the last room. There were no more guards, but there were bodies. The amount of blood staining the floor was enough to make even Hawke sick, and she usually wasn’t bothered by such things. She couldn’t be, in her line of work. But this…

“Bartrand, what have you done?” Varric said. He examined one of the corpses. There was mild mutilation to most of them. Missing fingers or toes, one with a missing eye. It was hard to tell if that was before or after they died. “Servants. They were just...workers, for the house. Probably worked the kitchens or cleaned the floors. This is needless. Why would he do something like this?”

“Your brother isn’t the nicest person,” Hawke said.

“Sure, but he wasn’t up for slaughtering a household of innocent people! There was always a reason for him to be a bastard. I see no reason for any of this,” Varric said.

“Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe none of this is and we have the wrong house?” Hawke said. She didn’t really believe it herself; Varric’s leads were always good. Still, he was distraught, and she didn’t want to leave him like that when she could potentially help.

It didn’t matter. They had proof right there.

“These...these are from the old house. I think they belonged to mother,” Varric said.

“Varric…” Hawke began, but Varric was moving again.

The main hall was packed with even _more_ guards. Varric released three explosive bolts in a row. He was rushing through them, now. Hawke didn’t blame him for being so angry. She couldn’t even imagine what she would think if one of her siblings was twisted up in something so awful. Still, she didn’t want him getting reckless and hurting himself.

“Come on!” she called to the others. “We need to support Varric!”

There was not a moment of hesitation. Varric was a friend to all of them. Even those who weren’t there—Aveline, Sebastian, Merrill, and Isabela—were close to Varric. He was just that sort of person who people liked to be around. Hawke admitted she was a bit the same way, but she didn’t think Varric recognized it in himself. He wanted so much to be the storyteller, just along for the ride. He didn’t notice how vital he was to the tale.

Hawke kept close to him during this fight. Even if he ran into the fray a bit impulsively, she followed. He asked what she was doing, but she just grinned.

“Someone has to look out for you!” Hawke insisted.

“Just try not to get yourself killed,” Varric said. “Two out of the three other people here would rain down holy retribution if I let that happen. And the third would probably join in just to help out!”

There was no need to worry, however, as the guards were all too crazed to work together or fight properly. Too close to Fenris and they became distracted and disoriented by his glow. Too close to Anders and they started to do the same, when Justice flared to life within him. The rest simply had to use that to their advantage, until there were no men left standing in their way.

Hawke breathed with relief. Anders healed any hurts, then they followed Varric as he checked the upstairs bedrooms. The first they looked at was empty, the middle door was locked, but the last held a single occupant. A dwarf, younger than Varric and trembling, sat in a far corner. He sprang up when the door swung open and ran at the group.

“Varric? Is that you?” he said, staring his fellow dwarf in the face. “Praise the Ancestors!” He embraced Varric, who didn’t look thrilled by this, but accepted it nevertheless.

“I know you. You’re Bartrand’s steward, Hugin,” Varric said when the other man pulled away. “What happened here?”

“Varric, your brother… That statue he brought out of the Deep Roads, Bartrand said it sang to him. Even after he sold it,” Hugin explained.

“Just like the guards were saying,” Hawke said.

“They were exposed to it, too,” Hugin said.

“But who did he sell the statue to?” Varric asked.

“I don’t know, but that’s why we came back to Kirkwall. He was already starting to rant about the sodding idol and its singing. On his better days, he hated it. Wanted to get rid of it. But the minute it was gone…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “He’s hidden himself in the study, talking to someone who isn’t there. I’ve been hiding in here ever since the guards became crazed, like animals. I didn’t dare go past them. Everyone in this house has gone mad!”

“Except for you, conveniently,” Fenris said.

“Yes, how come you aren’t like the rest of them?” Anders asked.

“He’s been forcing them to eat lyrium. And some of the servants… He cut off pieces of them while they were still _alive._ I managed to keep from him while he did it. I hid. I kept hiding,” Hugin said.

Varric gestured for the rest of them, other than Hawke, to step away. Hugin was in enough distress as it was, and he didn’t need them adding to it. Especially not with baseless accusations or suspicion.

“But why did he do it? Any of it?” Varric asked.

“He said he was trying to help them hear the song. Please, you have to stop him. He’ll just keep trying!”

Hawke didn’t want to tell the man that everyone was already dead. It wouldn’t comfort him besides letting him know that Bartrand had no more “test subjects.” But he _was_ safe now. They would make sure of it.

“Tyr?” Hawke asked. She knew he was milder than either Anders or Fenris would be. She needed calm, right now. “Can you escort him outside? Take the back way.” As in, not the way they came.

Tyr nodded, and stepped out of the doorway so Hugin could go first. Varric gave him one last squeeze on the shoulder before letting him leave. He was lucky to still be alive and not insane as the rest had been. They didn’t need to add to his trauma by making him walk past a hallway full of corpses.

“Now let’s go get my brother,” Varric said. They found the key to the room in a locked chest, which Varric picked with ease. It was less complex than the one on the door itself.

Varric slid the key in and turned it until the lock clicked, then pushed the door forward. Hard.

On the far end of the room was Bartrand, armed with twin daggers of dwarven design. As soon as they came for him he smashed a vial against the ground that released a thick plume of smoke. The rest of them choked on the air as it clouded their vision. Hawke could feel someone push past her, but couldn’t have aimed her bow if she wanted to.

It was Anders who was thinking quickly enough to cast a glyph on the floor, just at the top of the steps. It paralyzed Bartrand as soon as he stepped onto it. The smoke took a bit of time to clear, but Varric also shot a bolt into his brother’s foot before the glyph wore off and he had the chance to run again. Bartrand screamed in agony, but he wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“The song,” Bartrand moaned through tears of pain, “I can’t...I can’t hear it anymore. I just need to hear the song again, just for a minute.” He dropped his daggers to the ground, falling to his knees. It was hard to watch as he sobbed.

“Stop saying that!” Bartrand shouted, lashing out at someone none of the others could see. “I know I shouldn’t have sold the idol to that woman! It was a mistake! A mistake…”

Varric moved forward, pulling the bolt from his brother’s foot. “Bartrand, get a hold of yourself,” he said. Anders moved forward to heal the wound while Varric continued speaking, “Do you know where you are? Do you know what you’ve done?”

Bartrand took Varric’s face between his hands, staring at him like he hadn’t recognized him before that very moment. “Varric! You’ll help me, won’t you, little brother? Help me find it again? You were always the good one…”

“Help you?” Varric said, utter disbelief in his voice and covering his face. “Bartrand, you left me to die! You left Hawke and Blondie and Broody to _die!_ Not to mention the things you’ve been doing to your servants. And for what? Some trinket?!”

He grabbed Bartrand’s collar, shaking him. Anders jumped away at the movement, his healing only mostly done on Bartrand’s foot.

“Look at yourself! Look at what you’ve done to the men and women who served you! Where’s your nobility, brother? Where’s your dwarven honor?” Varric shouted.

Bartrand just kept weeping, whispering something else about the song. His mind was too far gone to register a single word his brother had said. It was possible he didn’t even remember leaving them in that ancient thaig three years prior.

“Varric,” Hawke said mildly, “I don’t think Bartrand is even really there.”

“Hawke is right,” Anders said. “His mind is...warped. I can feel it. It’s unnatural. If he wasn’t a dwarf, I’d think a demon did this. His mind has been poisoned by something powerful. I think I can give you a window—a moment of clarity. But that’s all I can offer.”

“Do it, then,” Hawke said.

Anders nodded, waving a hand over Bartrand’s head. Blue and white light swirled around his hand, and a sound like rushing wind filled the room. It echoed for a moment after Anders released the spell. Bartrand had gone still.

“That’s all I can do. It won’t last. I’m sorry,” Anders said, looking down.

Bartrand stared at his brother again, breathing easier, though still heavily. “Varric?”

It was odd, but the softly spoken word was all Varric needed to calm back down. _This_ was his brother, the boy that he’d grown up with and the man he’d tried to look after. The one that he loved and hated in near equal measure, because despite everything, Bartrand was family.

“I’m here,” Varric said. He embraced his brother. Hawke had never seen her friend so vulnerable.

“Varric,” Bartrand said, “what have I done?” He still sounded pained, but he wasn’t the pathetic and whimpering man that had been there moments ago. He was simply lost and broken.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know,” Varric said.

“Make it stop, little brother. Don’t let me...don’t let House Tethras fall like this. I know...I don’t deserve it. But please, Varric, don’t leave me like this. Make it stop.”

“Enough with the speeches,” Varric said. “I’ll get you to a healer. You’ll be fine.”

Hawke and Anders shared a look. If _he_ was barely able to return Bartrand’s mind, even for a short while, then it was doubtful that anyone could fix this condition he was in. Though Hawke was not one to give up hope.

“We’ll wait for Tyr to come back. He’ll help us carry him out of here, let Anders do whatever else he can to help,” Hawke offered.

“No need,” Varric said. He moved away from Bartrand, but only a little. “I’ll send someone to come get him. Sit tight, brother. Help is on the way.” Then he stood fully, helping his brother to the bed. Anders helped a moment more, just to get Bartrand to sleep. Then they went to leave.

“The sooner we get out of this house, the better,” Varric said.

It was a sentiment no one disagreed with.

✖✖✖✖✖

Varric had made the arrangements for Bartrand, including a place where he could stay under tight watch. When he awoke, Anders told them, Bartrand would be gone again. The moment of clarity had been just that.

Hawke had waited for Varric in his room in the Hanged Man, having bought two expensive bottles of ale from Corff to bring upstairs. It was better than the usual stuff, which meant it cost a few extra coin, but Hawke could afford it. They needed it tonight.

When Varric finally returned, having settled all that needed settling, he fell into his chair. “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse.”

Hawke poured the first couple of glasses. “This will probably help with that.”

“Thanks, Hawke,” Varric said.

He downed it as quick as he could. Hawke went slower, but then again, she didn’t need it nearly as much. Her keeping more sober was going to be a good decision, she was sure of it. Varric needed someone to look after him while he drank himself to sleep.

“I almost wish Blondie hadn’t wiggled his fingers and cleared Bartrand’s head,” Varric said, as he poured out another glass. “I liked it better when I just wanted to kill the bastard.”

“Well, just consider this night as solid proof that you are the better brother,” Hawke suggested. “I mean, I always knew you were, but now everyone else can be sure of it, too.”

“Please, Hawke,” Varric said, “there was never any doubt. I’m the handsome, irresistibly charming one.”

Hawke let him have this. It was hard, and it would be for a while, but she would let Varric have a moment or two to deny that anything was wrong. It was the absolute least she could do.

“Dealing with Bartrand is going to be even more of a joy than it used to be,” Varric said. “I still can’t believe what he did in that house. It’s one thing to walk away and leave us to die, but that?”

There was nothing kind to say to that. So Hawke rose her glass. “Here’s to drinking until we can’t see straight. That usually makes us feel better.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Varric said with a slight laugh. “Just take it easy, Hawke. Watching you get sick won’t cheer me up...much.” He smirked with the last word.

So they drank and talked, trying to think of other, better things than the events of that night. Come morning Varric would have to start a search into who bought the idol. Hawke didn’t want him dealing with that alone, and also she got herself a bit drunker than planned, so she ended up just staying the night. It wasn’t the first time the two had fallen asleep cuddling. At least Isabela was probably too busy to bust down Varric’s door and interrogate them this time.

Hawke hummed softly and let Varric fall asleep first. She’d look after him while he looked after Bartrand. Someone had to. No matter what he claimed, Varric cared far too much about the people around him, and it wore on his heart. She couldn’t let her best friend carry that alone.


	31. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you know me, you know that I adore Feynriel and am really hoping to see him again in DA4. He’s half-elf, half-human, a Dreamer mage, and ends up in Tevinter in his best timeline. It would make sense for a lot of reasons and his character would be super relevant!
> 
> Meaning it shouldn’t surprise you that this chapter got incredibly _long._ Hopefully no one minds that, and I should be back to regular length next update! For now, enjoy Night Terrors.

The Dalish were as welcoming as ever. Hawke thought bringing Merrill along would help, but instead it only made them _more_ hostile. Some were kinder, understanding that Hawke was a friend to the clan. The others Hawke just made a point of avoiding. Especially the ones that reminded her of the excellent aim of the Dalish hunters.

“Welcome, Hawke,” Keeper Marethari said. “and Merrill.”

Merrill nodded her head. “ _Andaran atish’an,_ Keeper.”

“I suppose I can guess why you are here. Feynriel mentions you frequently, since you were the one to save him. He told me he reached out to you in a letter.”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “Is he around? I’d like to speak with him directly, if that’s alright.”

Marethari pointed out the boy, who had grown significantly since they last met. He was taller and leaner, reminding Hawke of Carver when he was that age. Her heart broke a little, missing her brother, but seeing Feynriel looking better than she’d expected from the sound of his message lifted her spirits. She thought she’d be finding him all skin and bones, but the Dalish were feeding him well.

“Serah Hawke! It’s good to see you,” Feynriel said.

“Same to you,” Sarah Hawke said, beaming. “Looks like the Dalish life suits you.”

“The Keeper has been very kind. Even though I have shemlen blood and I have more of my father’s looks…”

“You are still _elvhen, lethallin,_ ” Merrill said.

“Thank you,” Feynriel said, looking shyly at his feet. “In Kirkwall I felt as if everyone could tell I had elven blood just by looking at me. But now I see how easily I passed as human.”

“It must be hard, not feeling fully like one thing or the other,” Hawke said.

“Sometimes, yes. What I really wish is that I was just accepted as I am,” Feynriel said. “But none of that is why I asked you here. I’ve been having nightmares again, and it’s harder and harder to wake up. Demons haunt me at every turn, and sometimes I’m lucky just to get away.”

“Does the Keeper know about this?” Merrill asked.

“Yes, to some extent,” Feynriel said. “I admit I have hidden some of it from her. I know the Dalish don’t have Tranquil, but I don’t want to find out what they would do if they thought I was possessed.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t harm you unless they were certain something was wrong,” Hawke said.

“And in that case, you’d be killed quickly, so it wouldn’t have to last too long,” Merrill said.

“I’m not...certain that’s helping, Merrill,” Hawke advised.

“Oh, _ir abelas._ I just thought… It used to make me feel better, when I worried.”

Feynriel still wasn’t at ease. Not surprising, considering he’d just been told he’d be killed if a demon took him. Better than being Tranquil, Hawke supposed, at least in theory. Still not the best choice.

“Surely there’s something we can do, Merrill,” Hawke said. “Any mage tricks for keeping demons away? You must know something.”

“Well, not all of them are so bad, once you get to know them?” Merrill said. At Hawke’s disapproving look, she amended. “Alright, I don’t know. Normally the more I said no to a demon’s offers the more they left me alone. Feynriel’s problems seem unique.”

Feynriel made a noise of concern.

“I’ll try talking to Anders, maybe even write Bethany in code and see what she might know. If I ask her directly, the templars might read her letter and find out and…” Hawke stopped talking. This wasn’t helping, either. “Anyway, I’ll look into it. Just keep saying no to the demons and keep training.”

Feynriel only looked more concerned as they started to leave. They came out all the way to Sundermount just to tell him they didn’t know what they could do. Hawke knew she didn’t know much about magic, but Merrill wasn’t much help either!

What was Marethari doing that she couldn’t find some way to help Feynriel? Surely his case wasn’t that strange. The Dalish were supposed to know things about ancient elves. Wasn’t there some old magic for this?

Not being able to do something was the worst feeling Hawke could think of. Walking away, leaving Feynriel helpless and alone, was the _worst_ feeling. Here this kid was, reminding her so much of her brother, and he was scared. She couldn’t let demons take him. Not after all that she’d done to keep him safe.

Anders had to have an answer. Or some book somewhere. Or Bethany. Or someone. Someone had to know a way to help poor Feynriel before things got worse.

✖✖✖✖✖

Then, things got worse.

Merrill ran personally to Darktown, where she knew Hawke was with Anders, to tell her that Feynriel’s situation had grown more dire. Isabela was with her, trying to help her stay calm. Arianni—Feynriel’s mother—was Dalish, and had been one of the kindest in the Alienage to Merrill. They had a kinship unlike the other elves. This hit hard.

Anders grabbed his staff and left a quick note for Tyr, who was out getting supplies. He’d looked into a lot of things, even searched with Justice to see what knowledge they shared that might be of use, in case something turned up. Nothing had.

Justice was a younger spirit than some. He’d only come into being because of turmoil in the Blackmarsh, from what he recalled. For a human or an elf, that was ages ago. For a spirit, that time passed in the blink of an eye. Justice’s time had only slowed when he inhabited a body. Now that he was one with Anders, they perceived time the same way, and likely would forever.

All of that meant, however, that Justice didn’t know as much as an older spirit might. Or as much as a spirit of Wisdom or Intellect. Hawke marveled at the fact that such things even existed, somewhere out there. She wished she had more experience with them and less with Desire and Rage demons.

As luck would have it, the group also encountered Fenris on the way. Hawke blinked in surprise, forgetting for a moment that he did sometimes have a life of his own. She just usually didn’t see it, because she was so busy with hers.

He’d apparently been visiting Varric in the Hanged Man. Hawke asked why, but he avoided the subject and just didn’t tell her. She was so tempted to pry, but she was supposed to stop butting into other people’s lives. She’d nearly screwed things up for Anders and Tyr in her panic when she thought the mercenary was leaving Kirkwall. She needed to let things just happen. Without interfering.

...well, at least she could interfere in the lives of strangers and acquaintances. It filled enough of the need that Hawke got her fix. _Like a lyrium addict?_

The odd metaphor fell away when she saw Arianni again. Hawke had seen Feynriel’s mother sobbing before, when he had gone missing. But this. She could barely speak she was so distraught. The sight of Hawke’s face seemed to only make things worse, even though she’d been called on to help.

Merrill helped Arianni into the house, while the rest followed close behind. Fenris had followed when they ran into him, so Hawke felt secure. Not because he was there, no! Just...because she wasn’t the only one who interfered in people’s lives. That was what she was going with.

Isabela fetched water, while Hawke and Merrill sat on either side of the weeping woman. Fenris and Anders just sort of stood at the door, waiting. If anyone asked, they were on guard.

“So where is Feynriel now? He came for a visit?” Hawke asked.

“He was going to, with the Keeper. To keep me updated on his progress,” Arianni said. Isabela came with her water, which stalled her as she took a few large gulps. “But a few days before they were set to come to the Alienage, the Keeper noticed he hadn’t left his _aravel._ She went to wake him, as it was already in the late hours of the day… Nothing. Nothing could even slightly rouse him. For his age it isn’t too unusual to need such heavy sleep, so she waited until the next morning, just in case, but…”

She burst out in another fit of tears. Merrill quickly took the glass of water while Hawke took the job of comforting her this time. She rubbed Arianni’s back, trying to get her to breathe evenly.

Isabela moved to the door and tapped out. She didn’t _do_ conflict, but Anders was a doctor. And a mage. This was his thing!

At least that was the argument made by Isabela to get Anders’ sorry butt over there. He found a spare chair, apart from the ratty old couch that the other three were sitting on, and moved in close. He would be soothing, if he could manage it.

“Keeper Marethari is still at the camp, gathering her supplies. From what she told me he’s still asleep, but his breathing is slower and his heartbeat is faint. I don’t know whether I’ll lose him to a demon or just _lose_ him,” Arianni said, blotting her eyes with her sleeves.

What Hawke wouldn’t do for a hankie right now. “Supplies for what?” she asked, focusing on the part that probably wouldn’t distress anyone more.

“It’s why I asked Merrill to find you. Keeper Marethari knows an old ritual, very old, to allow someone into the Fade. It won’t be your physical body, but she says you’ll be able to go in and fix whatever is keeping him there. She’ll connect you to where he’s dreaming, and you can help him,” Arianni said. “I only ask this of you, Hawke, because you helped my boy before. He trusted you, I know he did. And I do, too. You didn’t even consider handing him to the templars, when it came to it. And with how much trouble he’s been having...they would have made him Tranquil. I know they would have.”

Hawke couldn’t deny that. Even she knew it was true. From what she’d heard of Knight Commander Meredith, she already went overboard with the Rite. A mage who was actually struggling as Feynriel was? He would undoubtedly be Tranquil. And from the look on Arianni’s face, that probably would have killed her.

It took a few more minutes for Arianni to regain even the slightest semblance of composure, when she stared at the light on the floor. It had moved from its previous position through the window, with the sun making its descent into night.

“Keeper Marethari should be here soon. Come with me, Hawke, Merrill. We should greet her,” Arianni said.

Hawke offered a hand to help Arianni to her feet, but it was politely declined. Arianni was determined to find her strength again, especially with the Keeper coming all the way from Sundermount to perform this ritual.

Hawke and Merrill followed her outside the house and stood beside her. There was a bit of chatter in the Alienage, as was common that time of day. Behind them there were a couple of elves haggling. By the Vhenadahl some kids were playing, looked after by tired mothers and fathers. Moving too quickly to keep proper track of were a pair of young men, involved in a race.

But noises quieted as the figure of Keeper Marethari descended the steps. Her staff passed as a walking stick, though she walked more comfortably here, among other elves. Dalish or not, the shared heritage made room for trust.

Arianni stepped forward to greet Marethari, then guided her calmly inside. Hawke nodded at the familiar woman. She had never been able to read the Keeper. Hawke glanced at Merrill, hoping she might have better insight. But Merrill didn't seem to get the silent message Hawke tried sending.

Marethari started preparing things as soon as she was inside the small house. There was a magic circle sketched out on the ground, a supply of lyrium, and Marethari herself, staff in hand. All these things were needed for the ritual she was to perform.

“You will want to bring some help into the Fade with you. Feynriel will not be the only being you encounter. Demons will be roaming, flocking to his magic and trying to stop you. They will tempt each and every one of you, given the chance. Don't give it to them,” Marethari advised.

Hawke nodded. She looked around those with her, and ruled out Merrill. She was trusting of demons, which would be an issue if she decided to hear them out. Anders had experience with the Fade, however, and was not likely to be tempted. Isabela had a strong bullshit sense and Fenris didn't trust magic at all. Those three would probably be safe enough.

Hawke was tempted to go and get Varric, to spare Fenris involvement in something magic related. She didn't have time, however, and Fenris didn't seem like he wanted to back down, either. He was still with her, despite everything. That was something.

That's not to say he wasn't wary. All three of them were, sharing concerned looks between themselves as Marethari took Hawke aside for one last quick conversation.

“Hawke. I will need you to do something difficult for me this time, I'm afraid. I ask this of you because the alternative is unthinkable, even though this solution in itself is difficult to swallow in its own way,” Marethari said.

“Whatever it is, I can handle it. I will do what it takes to help Feynriel,” Hawke said.

Marethari simply looked more distraught at this statement. “When you are in the Fade, if there is any difficulty in freeing him from his sleep, you must kill him. It will not kill him in the waking world, I would not see him die. But it will leave him Tranquil, as your Circles call it. Disconnected from the Fade and—”

“I know what it means,” Hawke said. She clenched her fists. “How could you even suggest such a thing? That's no solution. That's only making it worse for him!”

“But it saves everyone else. Hawke, I need you to understand… Feynriel is what we call a Dreamer. The reason he is unable to wake is because in his sleep he walks the Fade freely. He can go where he pleases and it will seem almost exactly like the real world. Mages like him are a rare breed already, and many who have been rumored to exist have been taken by the Chantry to be killed or made Tranquil. At his full power it may be possible for him to bend the Fade to his whims. You see how dangerous that power could be under the thrall of a demon, don't you?”

Hawke wasn't a fool. She could act goofy or clumsy at times but she could understand the danger that kind of power would pose in the wrong hands. She had already seen what Magisters and their friends could do with their power, and that was without being possessed or having any abnormal abilities.

But she wasn't about to give up, either.

“I won't do that, even so,” Hawke insisted. “There will be another way out for him. He won't become Tranquil, not after all we've done to try to help him. If what you said about other Dream mages being found is true, then his power is worth preserving. Think of the good it could do if he wields it right!”

“And the terrors that would be wrought if he were an abomination,” Marethari countered. But she sighed. “I cannot force you to make this choice, Hawke. I am only here to advise you to do what I think is best. Feynriel has been with our clan for just over three years, now. I am no more at ease with making him Tranquil than you are. But as Keeper, I always do that which must be done, for the best for all _elvhen._ Do remember where he will awaken when this is over.”

“I understand why you say it, but I still can't. It's too horrible.”

“Then I will pray to the Creators that you are successful, Hawke. _Dareth shiral._ ”

Hawke went to the others, who were gathering themselves on individual cots set for them. They would need to fall asleep so their minds would be more susceptible to the magic that would pull their consciousness into the Fade. The four of them drank a concoction meant to aid in the magic as well, and lied down. Merrill kept watch over her friends as the spell work began.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke's vision felt blurred, but as she blinked and let her mind focus, the scene cleared. It appeared like they were at the Gallows, though a part of it Hawke was not familiar with. The smells and sounds were unmistakable, however. Plus, there were Templar symbols in various spots around them.

So this was what the inside of the Templar Hold was like. Hawke let herself go slowly, remembering what she was there to begin with, then checking that the others had remained at her side. Fenris was on her right, Isabela on her left, and Anders…

Behind her a figure in the shape of a man glowed blue. He gained better structure and form until he looked like Anders again, though with cracks of light seeping through breaks in his skin and clothing. His eyes remained that very same bright blue.

“The Fade,” he said, though the pitch and timbre of his voice were not his own. “It has been so long since I have been here with such a consciousness.”

“You must be...Justice?” Hawke asked.

“That is correct. And you are Hawke. In a way we are already acquainted with one another, though meeting me like this is different for you, I suppose.”

“Uh, yeah. Is Anders…?”

“He is still here with us. With me. We are always as one. But the nature of this magic has drawn me to the surface, much in the way he is the dominant one outside of the Fade. But I know all his abilities, and will be able to aid you in your task, if that was a concern,” Justice said.

“Thanks. It might be to our advantage that a spirit is able to help. You know the Fade better than any of us,” Hawke said.

“Please, Hawke,” Isabela said. “None of us knows shit about the Fade. Having Anders’ spooky ghost friend here is probably going to save our asses from all dying. Or worse.”

Fenris remained stiff and silent.

“Well, we'd best hurry, in any case. Feynriel has already been out for a long time. There's no telling what access demons have gained to his mind while we prepared,” Hawke said.

That was something they could all agree on. They hurried forward, only to be taunted by a rage demon who seemed to be running the show. It ran off before they could attack, but clued them in on the little game it had decided to play.

Two doors, two pieces of Feynriel to free or give up to the demons. Hawke knew the choice she was going to make. Hawke picked a direction and opened one of the doors.

A long hallway awaited them beyond it, with more doors on either side of them, dotting the walls every few feet. Hawke tested most of them, finding all of them to be locked. At the very end was one last wooden door, the same as all the others. Except, this one actually opened when Hawke tried the knob.

The group first saw a courtyard with flowers surrounding the perimeter and benches to rest on. It was just another part of the Templar Hold, but the flower beds started to stretch. More grass grew between the stones and cracked it all away until they were in a lush field, open and clear with not even the door behind them to indicate where they had just been. No turning back.

Hawke charged ahead, looking for any sign of Feynriel, until she spotted his pale hair and skin, standing out against all the greenery. He was with a group of the Dalish elves that had taken him in. Actually, he stood in front of them, with only one of the elders beside him. The older elf had an arm over Feynriel’s shoulders, and spoke with authority to the rest of the group.

“Today we honor Feynriel with his _vallaslin._ He came to our clan looking like the son of a shem, but stands here today because we know he is truly the son of one of our own. He is truly _elvhen,_ as much as any of us,” the _hahren_ declared.

Hawke hated to interrupt the scene. It seemed like such a nice dream to have. But it also wasn't real, and staying in it posed only dangers for Feynriel. Removing him from it felt awful, but leaving him in it wouldn't have been a kindness, either.

“This isn't real,” Hawke croaked in a voice not her own. Her hand flew to her throat, where she felt wrinkles formed into her now leathery skin. She looked down at her attire and recognized the Dalish tunic she was in instantly. The Fade had morphed Hawke into Marethari.

“What was that, Keeper?” Feynriel asked. “I thought you were preparing the inks?”

“No, Feynriel. I'm not… You must realize this isn't happening, right? I mean, look around you. This isn't Sundermount,” Hawke said.

“I know. Clans move, Keeper. Are you feeling alright?” Feynriel asked.

“Keeper, the boy is right. Don't interfere any longer. We will take care of his _vallaslin_ for you. You need to leave him be and let him join us,” the _hahren_ said. Something about his voice sounded off, this time. Hawke realized it had always been there—this slight groaning and throaty sound—but she was only just noticing it.

“That isn't right,” Feynriel said, though he sounded less certain than his words suggested. “The Keeper has to be the one to apply the _vallaslin,_ right?”

“Not always. If she is unwell, it's best to have someone else do it,” the _hahren_ said. His grip around Feynriel tightened. “Leave him to us, Keeper.”

“Not a chance, demon!” Hawke spat. “Feynriel, this is the Fade. It's all a trick to keep you trapped here so they can exploit your power!”

Feynriel blinked, looking between the two of them. After a moment of silent contemplation, Feynriel shoved the _hahren_ away, escaping his grasp. As the old elf shifted into its true demonic form, he ran and disappeared into a fog that was gathering rapidly around them. The sky clouded up with storms.

“You took what was mine,” the demon growled.

“He doesn't belong to you,” Hawke said. She tried to remain brave even though the demon was quite a bit larger than her. A single palm strike from it would flatten a person like a pancake.

“No, he doesn't, but we could have been good friends. Helped each other out,” the demon said.

“He would have been a fool to accept the help of a demon,” Fenris said, gripping his sword. With no clear way out it was best for them to prepare for a fight.

The demon turned its many eyes onto Fenris, looking concerningly relaxed. Almost pleased.

“Is that what you think? You who has suffered at the hands of my kin, who has seen others endure the same… It would seem foolish to you. But what if I promised you we would be equals? Achieving all your goals together?” the demon said. It's voice smoothed out as it made the pitch.

“Don't listen to it!” Justice cried. “This demon will deceive you!”

“Deception is not my game, spirit,” the demon said. “I want the same as you have, to live as one, to help him achieve his goals. Revenge. That is what you wish upon your former master, is it not? To see that he, along with all the others, pay for their cruelties? To see that they are no longer permitted to keep slaves?”

Hawke believed so strongly before that Fenris would not be swayed by temptations such as this. Yet, as she looked over to him, his eyes were wide and his mouth pulled in the way that she’d learned meant he was considering something. She hadn’t expected even this. Fenris was supposed to be resolute, knowing full well that the power of a demon was not what he wished to achieve his goals.

And yet…

“You would be capable of destroying all of the Magisterium?” Fenris asked. His eyes were a hazier green than usual.

“I would see it crumble. I would see every slave owner and trader fall, and every innocent freed,” the demon promised. “I simply require one thing of you.”

Fenris walked forward, gripping his blade. Hawke called his name but he did not respond. He turned on them slowly, working beside the demon.

“No…” Hawke breathed. She couldn’t believe it. She was stuck, immobilized by the dawning horror that Fenris had betrayed her.

Justice stepped in front of her, an arcane shield lifted before him and blasting Fenris and his blade backwards. “I will handle him!” the spirit declared. “I need you two to dispatch the demon!”

Hawke blinked and flexed her hands. With a nod, she grabbed her bow from her back and rose an arrow to the demon, firing a shot at its eye. It roared as the point met its target, ichor dripping from the wound.

Isabela played the part of distraction, keeping the demon focused on trying to grab and find her before making little cuts into its hide. It allowed Hawke to focus and fire where it was weakest. It didn’t have many weak points, with a leathery hide that turned into harder armor in places. It was like chipping away at stone where it was better defended.

Though its eyes were weak and easily punctured. It had too many to quickly blind it, but it hurt enough to phase it while Isabela attacked. The rest was a matter of finding veiny patches of skin, that were not protected from the point of an arrowhead. The demon’s forearms and chest were optimal places to strike, for that. And it was large enough to offer forgiving targets.

Justice, meanwhile, engaged in a mostly defensive fight against Fenris. The trick seemed to be allowing him to wear himself out. Dragging that heavy sword meant it wouldn’t take too long, and whatever effect the demon already had on Fenris made his motions less careful. He wasted a lot of energy early on, while Justice had mana to spare.

It was just a matter of some well-placed spells, at that point. Fenris could not dodge, and his blade could only defend against so many hits. It wasn’t as useful in this as a shield would have been. One last strike in his chest sent him falling. His body turned to smoke before hitting the ground.

Hawke turned in time to see this, her eyes widening as she screamed in fear. Justice ran to her, blocking an electric attack from the demon.

“He is not dead!” Justice shouted. “He will simply wake up. Do not fear for him.” With a look up at the massive monster before them, he glowered. “It is we who are in danger, now.”

Isabela’s distraction tactics worked beautifully, while the other two released magic attacks and arrows aimed at the giant beast. Hawke worried she might run out at this rate, but never felt the supply of arrows deplete from her quiver. It seemed that the representation of her in the Fade could never run out. It was handy, even if it was hard to wrap her head around it.

The ground shook when the demon finally fell, fading into a green mist shortly after. The scenery fell away, too, in plumes of green and deep violet smoke. The room returned to the courtyard from the Templar Keep in the Gallows, with the door just behind them. But Fenris did not reappear.

“He won’t be injured or something, will he?” Hawke asked.

Justice shook his head. “At most, he might suffer a headache from the sudden awakening. It was his own doing, of course.”

“That doesn’t seem fair…” Hawke said. That haze over Fenris’ green eyes was unlike him. The demon must have done something besides speak to appeal to him. To make him turn his back on her in that way.

“Demons do not care for fairness. He was open to suggestion and fell prey to it. We are lucky that he did not completely jeopardize the mission. Feynriel would have been the one to pay most for such a mistake,” Justice said.

Hawke moved forward quickly, hand still gripped around her longbow. He was right, certainly, but that didn’t mean she liked to hear it. Her shoulders were tense. She kept herself moving, focusing on the goal. They had to save Feynriel.

The other side of the hall ended in what looked like a boarding room, with places to study templar texts as well. A familiar man sat behind a large oak desk, with a more youthful Feynriel in front of him. The room shifted as the other had done, though the desk was unchanged. The templar symbols shifted to trade markings of some Antivan shipping company. The bunks turned into stacked crates, full of supplies and things to trade. The smell of fish and saltwater from the Rialto Bay breezed in from an open window, which had been closed before.

The man at the desk—Vincento, Feynriel’s father—was gesturing to his son and speaking in a much warmer tone than Hawke would have expected from him. “Feynriel, come watch what I’m doing. You see these inquiries here? I have to look over our stock reports from the previous day and see if we are able to fulfill the request. Then, if we have enough…”

“The request can be accepted?” Feynriel said, his voice matching his younger body.

“Exactly, my boy. Your mother will be so proud of all you have learned with me,” Vincento said, clapping him on the back.

Hawke stepped forward, and felt the Fade shift over her skin again. She looked down at her hands and clothes, but couldn’t place the appearance by this alone. She would just have to speak and see if she could convince him of the trick once more.

“Don’t listen to his lies. This isn’t your father,” Hawke said.

Feynriel looked up, eyes wide with shock. “Mother?”

Of course. She’d become Arianni, to complete the home life he must have dreamed of as a boy. It was awful to think, but she almost wished the demons were torturing him instead, so it would be easier to tear him away from them. Instead, Hawke was forced to take away something that would have made Feynriel happy. Even if it was a falsehood.

“He’s a demon, trying to deceive you,” Hawke said.

“I know we’ve had our differences, Arianni, but please let me try. I wish to be better, now that I know I have a son. We were apart for so long and I’d like to—”

“Oh, shut up! I’ve had enough of your crap! Whatever demon you are, leave Feynriel alone!” Hawke shouted. “Feynriel, your father left you and your mother. He knew you existed. He simply didn’t want to be a part of your life. He is an awful man and you are better without him. This _thing_ taking his place? It wants to feed off of your potential. Because it knows you can be so much more.”

Vincento rose, but his skin faded to a lavender tone and his clothing wrapped tighter around him and shrank into more immodest coverings. His hair rose from his neck and grew to horns. The desire demon beneath the disguise had given up the ruse.

“You are such a little pest,” the demon said. “I almost had him in my grasp.”

Feynriel, too, shifted to his true age. He ran as Hawke’s own disguise disappeared, leaving through the door still clearly behind them. She wanted to chase after him, but they had to deal with this demon, first.

“Since you took my meal, I shall take something of yours,” the demon mused. “Pirate, your heart still longs for the sea. What if I said I could give you back your freedom. A ship, full with a crew, ready to depart this very minute. She needs a captain. And you need something to remove your shackles to this city.”

Hawke only caught a glimpse of Isabela’s eyes, with the same haze Fenris had gotten over his, before she moved toward the demon. Not again…

“I like big boats, I cannot lie,” Isabela quipped. Then she turned on Hawke and lunged at her.

It was reflex that made Hawke lift her leg and kick Isabela back, though the pirate did not fall without a cut that nearly went right through the leather on Hawke’s calf. They both had the benefit of knowing each other's fighting styles. If Hawke could keep Isabela chasing her, she was certain she could still fire quick enough to take her down. But to fight her friend like that was not going to be easy.

Meanwhile, Justice took on the task of challenging the demon. This one was more lithe, preferring magical attacks to brute force. Which meant that Anders’ skills were more evenly matched in this battle. Justice still used them differently, seeming to prefer getting in closer and using shielding spells to push back against the demon.

Hawke kept herself moving, light on her feet and bouncing from one spot to the next as Isabela pursued her. She shot at Isabela’s legs first, to slow her down and keep her further. Then she tried to hurry to end it, but it was too soon. Isabela swiped at her and left a gash across Hawke’s cheek.

Bleeding in the Fade felt strange. It was still warm and stinging, but it also tingled. It was something like numbness, that pins and needles sensation from sitting on your own feet for too long. It was real to the mind, but Hawke was also acutely aware that none of it was.

That didn’t make the danger less true. If Isabela killed her here, she might wake up just fine, but she could not protect Feynriel. If Justice failed as well, Isabela and Feynriel both would be lost to the thrall of demons. Which would probably mean templars would be sent to kill them both.

Hawke couldn’t allow that to happen. She fired at Isabela’s better arm, forcing her to drop one of her daggers. Then, in the fumble that followed, Hawke was able to get a clean shot at Isabela’s chest. The both of them gasped as the arrow met its mark.

“Good...aim…” Isabela said. She fell to her knees. Hawke rushed forward, ready to cry. She had to remember it wasn’t real. Isabela would be okay. They would all wake up together in the real world.

But the image of her friend faded and Hawke still felt her heart break as if Isabela and Fenris were truly lost. Were it not for a shout from Justice, calling for her help, Hawke would have been stuck staring at the ground.

Instead, she rose her bow and loosed an arrow clean at the demon’s head. It dissolved into a green mist as the other had done, before the rest of the scenery returned. There was one thing left to to.

“Let’s save Feynriel,” Hawke said.

Justice nodded, and let her lead the way back.

The rage demon had no idea what it was up against when it issued them one last challenge. One last deal to let it have Feynriel. Hawke’s attack was swift and relentless. Their last battle in the Fade went so quickly, it was as if she’d barely broken a sweat.

Feynriel, released from all the demons could finally recognize the people standing before him. “Hawke? How are you here? What’s going on?”

“You have been asleep for days, trapped in your own dreams. Demons were attracted to you because you have a rare power. You’re something called a Dreamer. Do you know what that means?” Hawke said.

“Keeper Marethari explained it to me, before,” Feynriel said slowly, holding his head. “So it’s true. It explains a lot but… This is going to keep happening, isn’t it? The Keeper doesn’t know how to train me. She said she couldn’t. Which means I’m only going to be in danger for the rest of my life. Which makes me a danger to anyone I’m near.”

He was pacing, holding his head and staring at his feet as he moved. Finally he stopped, looking up at Hawke. “You must kill me.”

“Why?” Hawke said.

“If I ever give in and become possessed, I’d be an abomination. Everything the Chantry warns of. I could kill the Keeper or the rest of the clan… My own mother would be in danger from me! Don’t you see, Hawke? This isn’t going to end with me waking up. There’s only one way to stop me from hurting anyone else.”

“No, I won’t do that. Besides, killing you here wouldn’t actually kill you. It would leave you Tranquil,” Hawke explained.

“That’s even better. My mother can still see me in the Gallows, and I won’t harm anyone,” Feynriel said.

“It will not be you,” Justice said. “You will be like an empty shell. Nothing your mother knows of the man you are inside will be left. You may not even know her anymore. Life as one who is Tranquil is no life to lead, at all.”

“What other choice do I have?” Feynriel said.

“Surely there’s someone who knows how to teach a Dreamer. Perhaps…” Hawke began.

“Tevinter. Where magic is celebrated,” Justice finished for her.

“Go to Tevinter? You think that would work?” Feynriel asked.

“It’s a better option than staying here. They may know a thing or two about your magic. How to keep you safe and train you properly. Even if they don’t know at first, they wouldn’t make you Tranquil out of fear of their own failure. They would at least try,” Hawke insisted.

She might have had her own reservations about Tevinter mages from what she knew of Danarius, but that didn’t mean she didn’t also know they were skilled. The procedure done on Fenris was cruel, but it also took an understanding of magic that most of Thedas simply did not possess any longer. If Dalish knowledge could not provide an answer for Feynriel’s teachings, then Tevinter was his last and only hope.

“If you believe in it, Hawke, then…then so do I. I’ll pack and leave as soon as I wake. Tell the Keeper goodbye for me. And tell mother… Tell her I love her. And I will write,” Feynriel said.

He suddenly looked so grown. It had been three years since Hawke had met him as a gangly teen, and now he was off on his own. It was strange to see him so confident in this choice, after all the anxiety and fear he’d just faced.

“I will tell them. Good luck, Feynriel,” Hawke said.

He nodded once as a light appeared behind him. Feynriel stepped into it, disappearing one last time. Hawke watched the world around her blur, until at last she woke up back in the Alienage.

✖✖✖✖✖

Tyr handed Anders another cup of tea. When the mage had returned to their small home together, shaking like a leaf, there were a lot of questions that came up. But Tyr spoke them slowly, in his own way, to allow Anders time to answer all of it.

“It was like I was there, but in the background, watching myself do these things. Not that I didn’t have any influence, but I wasn’t as present. In my own body. I think that may be how Justice feels most of the time,” Anders said.

Tyr sipped from his own cup, thinking. “What do you mean you had ‘influence?’”

“I could...advise? I suppose? It was like being his conscience. Most of the time we agreed, attacking together and strategizing, but in different ways than I normally would. Though it still felt natural at the time I would always recognize seconds later that I never would have performed an attack like that. And I would have paid more attention to Hawke,” Anders said. He drank his tea, then coughed a bit.

“It’s still hot,” Tyr said. “Careful.”

“Right, right. Of course. You also put in a lot of honey,” Anders said, laughing a little.

“Too much?”

“Only a bit. It’s fine, I’ll drink it,” Anders said. He kissed Tyr’s stubble and put the cup down temporarily. “If I tried to just tell Justice what to do, he’d consider, but there were times he just didn’t do what I wanted. It was little things, always little things, but we didn’t fully function as a unit. I’m not sure if we’re less connected than I believed or…”

“Could it be the Fade? It’s different there.”

“You’re right, it could be a factor. But if it isn’t… If I’ve been thinking of this thing wrong the whole time—”

“Anders,” Tyr said, taking his hand. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

“But...what if I do?”

Tyr shook his head. “Why?”

“What if he’s changed me? What if I’ve been wrong and this was a mistake?” Anders said.

Tyr placed his own cup down to free his other hand. He stroked Anders’ cheek, brushing aside loose bits of blonde hair to stare into those honey-colored eyes of his. As always, Anders’ pale skin tinted red at the affectionate gestures. He pressed into Tyr for a kiss, then another, then another. Finally, they parted again, and Anders left his forehead resting on Tyr’s broad shoulder.

“I still don’t believe it was,” Tyr said firmly. “But if it becomes unbearable, or if these fears persist, we will fix it. I will always be here for you, with you. If you feel fear, do not fear alone.”

“Thank you,” Anders whispered. “I...love you.”

Tyr pulled him into a hug. “I love you, too.”

They sat in the quiet that refused to fall into complete silence. There was always the sound of the rats, or Ser Pounce II, or people milling around in Darktown. Things here were never truly silent, but that was alright. There was life all around them, and always people to take care of. Caring for people was what Anders did best, and caring for Anders was what Tyr did far better than he could alone. So long as they were together, it would turn out alright.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke knocked on Merrill’s door, having been summoned earlier that morning. It seemed Merrill had figured out the mail system proper at last! Granted, she rarely had a need to write or send letters.

Merrill let her in and sent her immediately to a chair, leaving Hawke to sit opposite from Isabela. Just as Hawke was about to ask what she was there for, Merrill excused herself to go get something, and ran off. Leaving Isabela and Hawke alone.

“So I suppose its you I should direct all questions to?” Hawke said, raising a brow.

Isabela sighed, leaning back. “I told her not to bother with doing this so formally. I just mentioned wanting to speak with you and she went ahead and wrote you and everything all on her own.”

“Yes. And why did she do that?”

Isabela released another, even longer sigh. “What happened in the Fade was… Stupid.”

“You’re telling me,” Hawke said. “‘I like big boats, I cannot lie?’”

“ _Look…_ ” Isabela said.

Hawke just laughed. “Come on, Iz, you know it’s fine. I’ve seen what demons can be like. That one blood mage tried to control me before and I couldn’t stop her. If it had been just some regular person offering it, I doubt you would have taken it.”

“Really? That’s it? No angry rant?” Isabela said.

 

“Yup, that’s it. You weren’t yourself.”

Isabela leaned forward again. “You put too much trust in me, Hawke, really. I’m not in this for anyone but myself.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“But I’m certain that you should. Look, I was foolish. I abandoned you in the Fade when I shouldn’t have. So I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say. Didn’t even get the boat, in the end.”

“You know the boat would have been an illusion, right?” Hawke said. “A demon couldn’t actually procure a boat and a crew for you.”

Isabela waved her hand. “Right, I know, sure. But it would have at least made me feel less bad about betraying you.”

Hawke laughed. “Merrill! You can come out now! We’re not fighting or anything.”

Merrill’s head poked out from the doorway to her bedroom. “You aren’t? Oh good. I was wondering what all the laughing was about. You told her what you wanted to?”

“Yes, kitten. All is well,” Isabela said, extending a hand. “You should stay anyway, Hawke. I was showing Merrill how to make seafood stew. You get a little sick of eating fish out on the water but it’s been a while, so I think I’ve gotten a taste for it again.”

Hawke smiled. “I’m game. I’m used to Ferelden stews from mother and some Orzammar nug-based recipes from Bodahn. I’m sure a bit of fish will be a welcome change.”

 

They ate together while Merrill informed Hawke that Arianni had heard from Feynriel only once, so far. He was doing well on the road. He kept nightmares at bay with exercises Marethari had tried to teach, and some herbs that had worked in the past. They seemed to have regained their potency after his recent rescue, which was good news for the long trip that awaited until he could get to Tevinter.

His more human appearance would be a boon, once there. Even Fenris had agreed that it was not a bad choice for him, despite being hesitant about admitting it. Had Arianni not been so worried, he might have been more frank. Hawke knew he had a softer heart than he admitted to.

Still, they hadn’t spoken at length since Feynriel’s departure. Nor had he mentioned the deal of the wrath demon that he almost took. It was likely another reason for Fenris to hold back from being too critical. He could not fault Hawke for trusting in Feynriel when he had nearly trusted a demon. Not that she blamed him any more than she did Isabela.

“I know that look,” Merrill said, like she was lovesick herself. “You’re thinking about Fenris, aren’t you?”

“I’m… No. Just. Wondering about what I should do after this. I could just go home, but—”

Hawke was interrupted by Isabela saying, “Go to see Fenris. That’s not a suggestion. I talked to him already and I know he’s agonizing over his decision in the Fade, even more than I was. Not that I’d describe myself as having agonized over it, but you know what I mean. Go and reassure him.”

“You think I should?” Hawke said, sheepishly allowing her bangs to fall in her face.

Merrill and Isabela nodded together.

“Just take a few sprigs of mint to chew before you get there. There is nothing less appealing than fish breath,” Isabela said. “Though it did save me from a few mistakes. Nothing makes the crew respect you less than sleeping with them.”

Merrill giggled. “I still respect you, Isabela.”

“That’s because you’re a delight. And not a man. And definitely not a sailor,” Isabela said.

“You don’t think I could be a sailor?” Merrill said.

“I never said that. A little training and you’d be the most fearsome mage on the seas. I’d say the only mage, but I’ve known other apostates,” Isabela said.

Hawke was only half-listening to their flirtatious conversation, thinking of what she should say to Fenris. He needed to understand that he was not to blame. She didn’t want him thinking she was at all upset over his actions. She’d been more concerned that Justice had killed him, at the time. And after, she was just relieved it had all ended well.

Merrill gave her a bit of mint that had already started drying out for tea, and sent Hawke on her way to Hightown. She chewed the leaves with extra force, making sure her breath absorbed the flavor and ignored all the fishy smells that lingered. Delicious as it had been, she wouldn’t have eaten fish stew had she planned on going to Fenris’ mansion before.

She got to his mansion and hesitated. Normally she would waltz right in, but it didn’t feel right, anymore. Too familiar. They were friends, certainly, but behaving the same as always might send the wrong message. Hawke almost turned tail and ran home, but as she started to move away from his door, she heard her name.

“Hawke? What are you doing here?” Fenris asked.

She jumped and spun around. “Looking for you?” she answered weakly. “Isabela said… Well she mentioned… She thought you might want to talk.”

Fenris was holding a large bag of food, with his sword still on his back, and a bottle of wine in the other hand. There was only one bottle of Aggresio left, Hawke remembered, and that was assuming he had not already partaken. It made sense for him to stock back up.

“Isabela has good intuition, as usual,” Fenris said. He sounded both bothered and amused by the knowledge. “I suppose you can come in.”

“I can carry something for you, if you want help?” Hawke offered.

Fenris hesitated, but handed over the wine bottle before stepping in front of her. She followed him through the open door and let him deposit his things in the kitchen. The place had been cleaned again, and recently. Probably Sebastian’s handiwork. Bethany hadn’t been able to assist since she was in the Circle, and no one else Hawke knew that visited Fenris semi-regularly ever liked to clean. As a Chantry brother, Seb probably saw it as charitable work in the name of the Maker.

Fenris had her join him in the usual place; his bedroom. She lingered at the doorway. After all that had happened between them, she’d hoped for a more neutral space. Surely he’d brought her here without thinking. He rarely used the rest of the house.

“I have been thinking about what happened in the Fade. That a demon could have played so easily on my fears...disturbs me,” Fenris said, breaking the silence that had built up. “I failed you. I won’t let that happen again.”

“You didn’t fail me, Fenris. It had influence over you, that’s what demons do,” Hawke said.

“And yet you were unaffected,” Fenris said.

“It didn’t try to tempt me.”

“Perhaps it knew it was not strong enough to face you.”

“Or it knew the one thing I really wanted at the time was something it wasn’t willing to give. It would have had to give up Feynriel.”

Fenris regarded her curiously, and she realized what she might have implied. Sure, she still wanted Fenris, but no demon could truly give him to her. Not in a way that allowed him the choice, which was what she wanted. Hawke would never wish to possess Fenris like an object. She wanted him to choose her. So far, he hadn’t, and she accepted that choice no matter how much it hurt.

“Besides,” Hawke said quickly, “you’re all allowed one free demon possession before I actually hold it against you.”

Fenris smirked. “Good to know.” The intensity from before left his eyes, and he was more at ease. “As for the boy, we shall see what he becomes, and if he regrets the mercy you provided. But that is not important now. Let’s just hope we face nothing similar in the future.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with you there. Enough with the demons and the magic and the chaos. Let’s just have a nice, calm day. Maybe go on a picnic. Or go to a party. We’d have to be _invited_ to a party, but you get the idea,” Hawke said. “For tonight, though, I should probably just head home. I need to get at least a little bit of sleep before the craziness kicks back up.”

“Indeed. Let me know if anything happens that needs handling. Just try to leave the demons out of it, this time,” Fenris said.

“Would that I could,” Hawke sighed. She waved and went back down the steps, skipping over the broken tiles that had never been replaced. It was a little easier with every time they spoke. Maybe one day she wouldn’t even consider the difficulty, and just let go. Whatever that meant.


	32. Mundane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing one: catching up on the backlog again and trying really hard to get a few more chapters done within the next couple of weeks so I don’t have to do the hiatus thing cause that would suck!
> 
> Thing two: I am a silly goose and ended up changing my summary and adding more events and things so it looks like Act III will start on chapter 42, not 40 like I think I mentioned before. Not a huge change, but figured I’d mention it.
> 
> The new stuff is a few things I added between acts because why the heck not? Those three year gaps were always a little wonky to me, but particularly the second three year timeskip. Plus there’s stuff I want to cover that can be more easily worked in during what is essentially a free space for me to just do whatever in. Maybe Hawke will get a piercing. Who knows?
> 
> Anyway, enough of my babbling. Onto the chapter!

Hawke had her fingers twisted in the most uncomfortable position she’d ever placed them in on purpose. She’d broken a finger once, and that had been less painful than this. Orana looked over and saw her struggling before she gasped, hurrying over.

“No, no, Messere! If you put your pointer on the second string like that… Try it on the third string, with your middle on the… Yes! There you go,” Orana said.

“But it’s so much harder to switch from the other chord to this,” Hawke said.

“I suppose that’s true, but it doesn’t seem like you’re even able to play it with your fingers all twisted up like that,” Orana said, lowering her head. “Though it is your decision, Messere.”

Hawke put the lute down for a moment. “No, I’m simply being stubborn. You’re my teacher, Orana, I should be listening to you. I apologize.”

Orana still looked surprised by every kindness Hawke extended or any act of humbleness. Hawke didn’t even consider herself to be that humble, but compared to Magisters and their pupils, she supposed most anyone would appear to be. Still, it was nice that Orana was opening up more.

Hawke noticed she would both sing and speak a little louder, like she was allowed to actually be heard. A couple of times she had even been convinced to use Hawke’s name, instead of a title or honorific. She still quickly got back into the usual habit of using “Messere,” but Hawke didn’t mind. So long as Orana was comfortable, that was what mattered.

Bodahn had also become both a friend and almost like a surrogate father to the young elven girl. When the two of them and Sandal all went out to get food and supplies for the house, he made sure she got time to stop and look at some of the nice dresses, gloves, and hats. Most of them were imported and above a servant’s usual pay rate. Which meant most shopkeepers looked down their noses at little Orana and yelled if she laid a finger on the fabric.

But Bodahn would step in, saving her from being scolded or getting an undeserved lashing. Everyone knew he was under the employ of the Amell/Hawke household, and stepped down when he got involved. Fewer people actually recognized Orana. “All elves look the same, to me,” was a common claim. Bodahn waited until he got a moment to talk to Leandra so he could share some choice words about such a sentiment.

Orders for Orana from those stores were put in under Hawke’s name, even though the measurements were totally different. Orana was a willowy little thing, already smaller due to her genetics and younger than Sarah Hawke besides. Hawke, meanwhile, had gained muscle in her arms and legs from all the archery and running about, and still carried her weight in her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Not to mention her butt. The dressmakers surely knew the outfit was meant for someone else upon receiving the order, but never questioned the sound of clinking coin.

Orana was wearing one such dress today. That was another thing she’d grown more bold about; she chose her own outfits and wore what she liked. If she felt like wearing something that would shine against the sunlight, she would pick something Hawke had gotten her that did so. If Orana wanted to look plainer, she had plenty of outfits that still suited that purpose. But she could look as fine as any Hightown lady if she wished.

Hawke would even sometimes help with her hair, or lend her a few of the powdered pigments she had in her room. A little dusting of brown around the corners of her eyes, or a bit of some soft pink painted onto her lips, just for the fun of it. She wanted Orana to be given the chance to dress up like this, if she so chose. She deserved all that and more, after all she had been through.

Sometimes it still got a little harder. Orana would remember playing the lute until her hands bled, or think of her father and how he’d been killed for Hadriana’s blood magic. Hawke had been there to see her cry a few times, but usually it was Bodahn who held her and helped her to bed. It was difficult, since he couldn’t carry someone her height, but he did his best to still care for the girl.

Her trauma would never go away, just as it was with Fenris, but Hawke could do things to lighten the load. If Orana could not forget, she could at least think about it less, or in ways that gave her power over it. She had long since acknowledged that her treatment in Tevinter was cruel. That in itself was a show that she had changed.

Leandra was helpful, as well. If Bodahn had become a father figure, Leandra had become like an adoptive mother. Most often it was she who put in the orders for Orana’s clothing, as Hawke herself was busy doing whatever job she picked up. Leandra would also sometimes help with shopping for food or cooking, making a point of asking Orana what things she liked to eat. She never let Orana be forced to clean alone, never let her work if she started to get ill, and never ever scolded her for any mistakes.

It had taken a while, but with the time that had passed, Orana seemed rather used to the arrangement. In truth, she’d become a part of the family in everything but the name. Even Sandal adored her, showing it in his own way.

“Now,” Orana said, “perhaps we should try again? From the top?”

Hawke grinned. “Maybe in a bit. I could use a break, to be honest. You want some tea?”

“Oh, I can—!”

“Don’t worry, sit. Relax. Today I’m the student, so I help my teacher by giving her a nice cup of…green? Black?”

“White tea, please,” Orana said, still sheepish. “Bodahn picked up more from the market just yesterday.”

“I’ll have to have him show me where he put it. The way he organizes things can be a little weird,” Hawke said.

Orana simply giggled in agreement, and let Hawke go to do her thing. After calling for Bodahn a couple of times, Hawke was surprised to find that her mother was in the kitchen, instead. Hopefully she knew where the tea was.

“Felt like snack time, huh?” Hawke teased, noting the plate of fruit Leandra was assembling.

“I’m allowed,” Leandra said, popping a grape into her mouth. “I’m still head of the house, young lady.”

“Yes, of course, mother. Even though I’m the one who provides for all of you to continue your life of luxury,” Hawke continued, sliding around to the cupboard. “Have you seen any white tea around? Supposedly Bodahn restocked our supply.”

“Third shelf, far left. Not the red tin, that’s got raspberries in it,” Leandra said, not even looking up from her plate. “Did you eat the melon I got? I was saving that, you know.”

“Don’t look at me. I think Sandal did another experiment and your melon was a victim.”

“I see. I suppose I’ll buy another.”

Hawke hummed quietly as she set up the kettle and lit the fire, then spooned tea leaves into two cups, with a little more in hers to make it stronger. She did a little dance as she waited, just something to keep herself from getting too bored as the water boiled. Before the steam started screaming, her mother spoke again.

“I was thinking we should invite some people over for dinner. Maybe a friend of yours? We have that big table and we only ever use the one side of it for us. I have so many fond memories of First Day parties where we waited until the final hour to see the new year come in. There was even one to pass the coming of the new age. Everyone wondered what the Divine would decide to call it. No one predicted the return of dragons,” Leandra said, looking wistful. “In any case, you should invite someone to join us. Maybe that young man you’re so fond of.”

“Mother, I told you, Anders isn’t—”

“Not him, dear. The elven man with the pale hair. I know you don’t like me prying but I’ve seen the two of you with each other, reading by the fire and chatting. I recognized that look on your face the instant I saw it. You know you have your father’s eyes? He used to look at me that way.”

Hawke looked at her feet. She was no longer fidgeting or moving around. She hadn’t realized Leandra might have suspected something was going on. Even with how blatantly obvious her feelings were to everyone else around her, Hawke somehow forgot her own mother, who had known her since birth.

“We haven’t been as close lately,” Hawke said slowly, trying to avoid a full explanation.

Oh, they’d had The Talk. They’d had it when Malcolm was still alive and Hawke was a pimply teen who was more concerned with practicing her stealth than sex. But that didn’t mean she wanted her mother to know that the same night she lost her virginity she also got her heart severely broken.

“I have noticed,” Leandra said. “Which is exactly why dinner would be a great idea. I can get to know him and he can have a nice meal. We all get something out of it, right?”

Hawke tightened her jaw. “I’m just not sure he’s interested in doing something like that. He’s very private.”

“We could invite your other friends, then. It will be very informal. I won’t ask too many questions or anything. No mention of marriage or children—”

“ _Mom!_ ”

“I said I won’t mention them!” Leandra said, raising her hands defensively. She sighed, pausing a moment so Hawke could calm down. “I wanted to wait for you to tell me, but with the way things have been I wondered if you might not need a push. I just want you to be happy, Sarah. That’s all I’m trying to achieve. Even if I do also like the sound of grandchildren, you’re what’s important.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but knew Leandra was telling the truth. It wasn’t like she knew Fenris or what he was going through. And Hawke certainly hadn’t been cluing her into her love life. It was only natural for her mother to worry and be curious.

“I guess...one dinner couldn’t hurt. But I’ll invite everyone, okay? And you are not to pressure Fen to talk about his past. Fenris, that’s his name. Don’t...call him Fen. Only I do that. And don’t let Bodahn or Sandal get overexcited about this; you know they’ll go overboard with the food. And—”

“I get it, sweetheart,” Leandra said, pulling Hawke close and planting a kiss on her head. “I will not bother anyone or let things get out of hand. I just want to… I want to be more involved in your life. Every time you step out that door I don’t know if you’re coming back to me bloody and broken or if you will even come back at all.”

“Mom…”

“And I know you’re skilled and I shouldn’t worry too much and make myself crazy, but I just can’t help it. You mean the world to me, Sarah, and you’re all I have left. With Bethany in the Circle, your brother and father gone… I can’t lose you, too.”

Hawke didn’t plan on crying, but it was a little hard not to with her mother getting weepy over her. The only thing that stopped her from full on sobbing was the screech of the kettle, demanding to be removed from the fire. She poured the tea after wiping her eyes, and readied the cups on a tray with some cookies.

“You know I love you, mom. And...you’re all I’ve got, too. So we’ll look after each other. If meeting Fenris really matters to you, then I’ll arrange the dinner,” Hawke said.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“And who knows, maybe you’ll have to introduce me to some handsome suitor someday soon,” Hawke teased.

“Oh nonsense,” Leandra said. “I’ve only been taken out a couple of evenings and both of them were terrible. One of them even sent me flowers after he insulted my family for having magic in the line. Though he didn’t leave a card to actually apologize.”

Hawke shook her head. “Men,” she sighed. “Will they ever learn how to treat a lady?”

“Apparently no time soon,” Leandra said. “At least none I’ve met. I only hope your Fenris has better manners.”

“He’s not _my_ Fenris,” Hawke argued, but left it at that.

“I’ll get a menu together for the evening. Give me a headcount by tomorrow and I can have everything prepared by Saturday night!”

Hawke would have to let everyone know as soon as possible, then. And remind them to be on their very best behavior. It wouldn’t be easy, nor would it be a calm dinner, but Leandra was going to get what she wanted.

✖✖✖✖✖

Archer Club was out on another outing, which meant Varric, Sebastian, and Hawke were all together ready to shoot some targets and maybe do a little light poaching. Sebastian had been asking Hawke all sorts of questions the whole trek out about attire, customary greetings, and other things that might be expected of him at the dinner her mother was hosting. Every question was answered with a chuckle and another explanation that it was casual, there were no expectations, and he just had to be his usual charming self.

“It’s everyone _else_ that I’m worried about. Even Aveline can be prone to bickering with Isabela around,” Hawke said.

“That’s why we’re planning a specific seating arrangement,” Varric said. “I’ve been through enough Tethras family dinners that I’ve got the whole thing down to a science. With that and some heavy reminders to be nice in front of Leandra, we should be fine.”

“Should be,” Hawke repeated. “But what will actually happen only the Maker knows.”

Sebastian laughed. “Perhaps not even he can predict the events of such a night.”

“Which is why I suggested getting Archer Club back together to let off some steam,” Varric said.

“We need a cooler name for it,” Hawke said. “It’s so straightforward. I want people to wonder what we could possibly do together, like we’re a weird secret society.”

“The Chantry might suspect us of blood magic if we call ourselves something too linked to the occult,” Sebastian warned.

“I know you hated my suggestions, but I didn’t see you coming up with anything better,” Hawke said.

Varric shook his head. This was the exact reason Varric had settled on calling this little group something so obvious and plain. Hawke had argued this point for almost a half an hour last time.

“Let’s just get the targets set up and start shooting, alright?” Varric said. Letting off steam was definitely necessary. Mostly for Varric and Hawke, but “Choir Boy” probably had some worries of his own.

Varric didn’t have his brother nearby, but he was still dealing with his affairs while he was cared for by family members and specialists. Of course, there were no people out there who understood this specific case of insanity, but there were people who knew how to deal with the disabled and those affected by lyrium, which had to be good enough for the time being. If they ever found a cure...if there even _was_ a cure, it was a long way off from reaching Bartrand.

Varric just kept picking up the pieces. Dealing with the Carta. Dealing with other dwarves. Dealing with questions from other clans that came flooding in about various things they were supposedly “owed” by Bartrand that no one could seem to prove.

He knew Hawke had her own family drama. Not that Varric minded a visit with Leandra or a free meal. He just didn’t know how Hawke was going to deal with her curiosity about Fenris or any of the other misfits Hawke had collected. Varric counted himself in that number. Leandra was probably lonely, from all the Hawke family had lost.

Bethany’s absence was still felt some nights at the Hanged Man. The other ones weren’t spoken of, but he noticed Hawke getting sad sometimes when family was mentioned. Hawke still thought of her father and brother.

And while Varric hadn’t gotten as involved in Sebastian’s life as Hawke did with all of her friends, he knew there was a large loss there as well. His whole family assassinated, his throne stolen… Hawke seemed to attract not only misfits, but tragedies.

So they shot some targets, and a couple of large birds, and sat down for lunch. Just to make themselves feel a little bit better about life. It was also a good time to talk, away from Kirkwall and their usual lives. Sebastian had made it a little harder to speak with ease, at first, but now Choir Boy was known well enough by the other two that they both felt comfortable being themselves.

That didn’t mean Varric was interested in what he usually talked about. Most of the time, it was religion.

“It gives me certainty that I made the right decision to see others rediscovering their faith,” Sebastian said. “Fenris has been in the Chantry a few times now, and not even looking for me. Just to pray. Or...really to try. He claims to not have gotten used to the idea.”

Hawke’s eyes were lowering, and her lip was doing that slight pout she did when she was sad. Varric prepared himself to shift the subject to something not Fenris related, but she spoke before he could.

“You should mention that to my mother,” Hawke said. “I mean, she already approved of him, from what I can tell. Just imagine if things were truly mundane as worrying about whether or not he was Andrastian. Not that we’d ever judge, really. But think about it. If this dinner was really a normal courting, all formal and meeting my whole family. I can imagine the look on Carver’s face… He would try to arm wrestle Fenris as soon as he got through the door.

“And Bethany and dad would probably be so good and patient with his distrust of mages. But they’d have their own little ways of trying to convince him that they knew best. It might have even worked. And mom would make sure everyone had eaten their fill and say something about Fenris’ ‘intentions’ with me.

“Oh, and if Gamlen were there! Can you imagine? I mean… It’s ridiculous, right? Hilarious, even…”

Despite her words, Hawke’s eyes were watering. Which part she ached for the most was unclear, but Varric knew she was missing all the people she loved. Varric put an arm around her, ready to change the subject now that she’d paused. But again, he missed his window.

“I’m sure this dinner will go wonderfully,” Sebastian assured her. “And I am truly looking forward to meeting the woman who raised someone so capable and strong as you.”

Hawke sniffled, and laughed. “Psh, baseless flattery. In fact, I feel as if I’ve been accused of something that is outrageously false.”

“Yeah, you’re better off asking Leandra if Hawke was ever dropped as an infant,” Varric teased.

“Ouch,” Hawke said, elbowing his side. “Too far, you ass.” But she was still laughing, and wiping her eyes. Even if she had gotten angry, he would have taken that over her crying again. He hated to see that.

✖✖✖✖✖

“There, that should do it,” Sebastian said, wiping his brow. “No more leaky ceiling.”

“You were here just last week. You didn’t need to check in so soon,” Fenris insisted.

Sebastian climbed down from the ladder and just beamed at his friend. “Ah, but I didn’t have the tools for that one, last time. I can’t have you living here with a hole in your roof. Especially when the rainy season rolls around. Or the cold comes in.”

If Fenris ever got sick, it would be more than just Sebastian worrying over him. Hawke would get herself all worked up trying to help and uncertain if she even should. She would spend time wondering if he would consider her annoying, or if she should cook for him like she wanted. If he was going to just need a day or two to sleep it off, or if she ought to call Anders over to his place to make sure he didn’t simply keel over and die.

Sebastian knew Fenris was well aware of this fact. His complaint was not that the roof was getting fixed, but that it was a roof Fenris didn’t want to care about. Even with how he’d allowed people to clean the space for him, more intense maintenance was a different story. Sebastian had already heard how this place belonged to an associate of Danarius, and how it was used by the Magister himself at times.

In a way, it made sense to trash the place and treat it the way Fenris wished to treat his former master. Yet, if he was also choosing to live there indefinitely, there was a certain level it needed to be kept at to be livable. And, again, so Hawke didn’t worry herself silly.

These truths went unspoken, this time. Instead, Sebastian said, “This is your home, Fenris, and I am your friend. I want to do something for you as a friend to make sure you are well. It is not a favor where I feel I am owed anything in return. Just a friendly visit.”

Fenris refused to look him in the eye. Perhaps he’d said “friend” too much. Though in truth, Sebastian sometimes felt a little closer to a motherly figure, the way he cared for him.

“Is there a reason you’re still here, then?” Fenris asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a fri— a chat, with you,” Sebastian said, stopping himself from saying that word again.

“About…?”

“Well, have you something to wear for Hawke’s dinner this Saturday?” Sebastian asked.

That made Fenris’ ears go red. Mentioning Hawke normally got some kind of reaction, but this time it really caught him off guard. Surely the event in question added to the effect.

“Is this not appropriate attire?” Fenris asked. It sounded like he was genuinely asking.

“For Hawke, I’m sure anything would be fine. But if you wish to borrow something nice for the occasion, I believe you would fit into some old clothes of mine. I’ve even got something black, if you want to keep them the same color.”

Fenris took a deep breath, considering this offer. Or at the very least, considering how best to turn Sebastian down. He wouldn’t be offended, regardless of the answer. It was simply something he’d thought of when he was shooting targets with Hawke the previous day.

“I do not wish to look foolish,” Fenris said.

“I don’t believe that’s possible, no matter what you wear. But for one evening, a change of pace could be nice. That’s all.”

“Is this event that important? If everyone is going to be there, it hardly seems to matter what I am wearing. It may be best if I do not attend at all.”

Sebastian straightened. “No, that won’t do. Hawke really does want you there.”

“Her invitation did not convince me of that.”

Knowing how nervous Hawke was about the evening, and around Fenris in general, that wasn’t a surprise to hear. But Sebastian knew that Hawke cared about whether he showed up or not. If he simply didn’t come, she would be devastated. And it might not leave the best impression on Leandra, either.

“She spoke to me about it, yesterday. About how she wished it was different. Hawke would have you meet her whole family, if she was able to do so, but with all that she has lost she has only her mother and a distant sister. A sister I didn’t even get the chance to meet, as you did. She said something about you going to dinner to court her, instead of the way things are now. I may not know what happened between you two, but she wants you there. Of that I am certain.”

Fenris’ ears only deepened in their shade of red. He turned his head as if it could hide the expression he got all over his face, but it was evident even from the way he stood. Sebastian had never seen Fenris react in quite this way. Thrilled but embarrassed and hesitant and sad. It was an odd combination, and surely a difficult one to work with.

“Bring the outfit tomorrow, and I shall decide then. But I will go, regardless,” Fenris said stiffly. “Now please, if you must talk, speak of anything else.”

Sebastian stifled a laugh, and changed the subject.

✖✖✖✖✖

Orana was waiting by the door to greet everyone as they entered and help them in case they had decided to bring anything with them. Varric never left Bianca behind, so he would at least have her with him. As for the others, a few had asked whether they should bring something as a gift to thank Leandra for the dinner. Hawke insisted it was unnecessary, but Aveline seemed determined to do something special, at the very least.

Anders and Tyr were first to arrive, using the informal method of coming through the cellar door. Hawke rolled her eyes and told them to say hello to Orana, who needed to keep a headcount so she knew when to go and take her own seat at the table with everyone else. Orana yelped when they did, however, not having expected anyone to arrive any other way than through the main door.

And that was only the beginning of the night.

Aveline was next to arrive, punctual as expected, and with a basket of some baked goods in her hands. She was back in something more casual, much like she wore when escaping the Blight. Without the bulky armor it felt like no time had passed at all, to look at her. She apologized for not bringing Donnic, as she had passed along the invitation but he was deep into an investigation of a smuggling operation and would not leave it be when they almost had them.

“He did send me with these, however,” Aveline said, handing Hawke the basket. “Apparently these are Hendyr family recipes. He’s quite talented at baking.”

Hawke grinned, in that smug but proud way she got whenever Aveline mentioned Donnic. “Send along my thanks to him. I’ll get this on the table.”

Sebastian was only moments behind Aveline, with flowers for “the lady of the house.” Hawke rolled her eyes and pointed him at Leandra, so he could make his very best first impression. She was certain there would be questions of “why this charming young man isn’t the object of your affections?” and knew that explaining how Seb was really like a brother to her wouldn’t do the trick. Explaining that he was _literally_ a brother of the Chantry, and thus had taken vows of celibacy, probably would be more convincing, even if it didn’t stop him from marrying.

A good while later, long enough that it was fashionably late, Varric stepped through the door with Merrill and Isabela in tow.

“I had to keep Daisy from getting lost again and Rivaini from deciding to be over an hour late just for a dramatic entrance,” he explained.

“Well thank you for that,” Hawke said. “Though I wouldn’t have minded a bit of drama.” She winked at Isabela.

“Ooh, I’ll take that as permission,” Isabela said.

She handed over a bottle of spirits to Hawke and Varric offered another. Both were courtesy of Corff, though only one he was actually aware of having given. Hawke put aside Isabela’s offering and would have Bodahn return it with deepest apologies later that night.

Merrill had nothing to offer, but greeted Hawke with a big hug, which was good enough for her. To Leandra she offered a polite Dalish greeting, which seemed to delight her. They all took their seats as directed by Bodahn.

Orana and Hawke shared a glance. There was only one guest left who had yet to arrive. She told Bodahn to give out drinks and let people have whatever they wanted from Donnic’s gift basket. She didn’t want people getting impatient.

Especially because she was already there, tapping her foot and staring at the door. Orana played with her hands, already anxious enough with an important event to help out with, and more so with Hawke so nervous. Besides, she knew the last guest. Hawke still hadn’t convinced Orana not to fear Fenris after he killed Hadriana. No one really faulted him that, but the girl hadn’t adjusted to how he handled his trauma differently than she did.

Which was why she jumped at the final series of knocks at the door, and was more hesitant when opening it to him. Fenris was pulling at the jacket he wore, which was even darker than his usual clothing somehow, and made of heavier and finer materials. Beneath was a white tunic that was crisp and clean like it had just been made and ironed for him. There were even small decorative bits of embroidery and buttons, with pants and shoes to match the rest of the outfit.

Hawke always had trouble not simply staring at him, but now she couldn’t even remember the reasons she shouldn’t. It wasn’t that he was any more or less handsome, he was always good looking. Fenris simply looked so different like this that she was stunned. That, and she got caught up in his looks again because she couldn’t stop looking at him.

“I apologize for my late arrival,” Fenris said, clearing his throat.

Hawke blinked herself back to the present. “Ah, uh... It’s alright! Is everything okay? You didn’t run into any trouble on your way here or anything?”

“No, Hightown is actually quiet this time of night. I simply found some difficulties with this...outfit,” Fenris said. He was flushing, staring at the shoes. He usually didn’t bother with wearing any, settling for footwraps as Merrill did. Elves apparently just had tougher feet.

“You can take those off if you’d like?” Hawke whispered, pointing at the shoes so he wouldn’t mistake the comment as a flirtation. She was still keeping her distance, remaining friendly but never too much.

He looked up at her, then back down, before taking them off. He apparently still had something under the pants to wrap around his feet. Hawke smiled a little when she saw that, and had Orana take the shoes to place by the door.

“Come on inside, everyone else is already here,” Hawke said. She offered her hand without thinking. Before she was able to retract it, however, Fenris took it in his and allowed her to lead him in. It was a chaste little touch, and probably harmless, so she simply kept on smiling and brought him over to his seat.

Leandra didn’t waste any time. “You must be Fenris,” she said, leaning over to his side of the table. She was seated at the head, though she usually left that spot to honor Malcolm and her parents. “I’ve heard quite a bit about all of you, though I admit that I never know what to believe when it comes to my daughter. The stories she shares seem so outrageous.”

Hawke crossed her arms. “I don’t lie to you. That’s Varric’s job.”

“I never outright _lie,_ Hawke. I only stretch the truth enough to make things more interesting. I give people the fantasies they desire,” Varric insisted.

“Which is what gives me headaches when the guards come around asking if I know who _Hard in Hightown_ is based around,” Aveline said.

“No more bickering,” Hawke said. “Bodahn! You can start bringing out the food now!”

To say that everyone was on their best behavior would have been a stretch. Still, there was something fun about the chaos the group trailed in their wake. At least all spills were accidental, and never the start of a food fight.

The seating arrangement was switched around a few times during the night, because everyone wanted to get to know Leandra. Many of them had met the woman before when stopping in to see Hawke, but no one had ever had a proper long conversation with the woman. To Hawke’s horror, she was all too delighted to share stories of Hawke’s childhood. Not all of them were flattering.

Hawke managed to retaliate by getting the others to talk more about themselves and each other, getting the focus off of her. Leandra had to scold her once or twice for certain dangerous situations the others mentioned her getting into. That forced her to shove Seb towards her mother to talk to her as Hawke’s teacher. It worked until Isabela got so drunk that she recounted one of the times Hawke had stopped in the Blooming Rose.

“Not as a customer!” Hawke said. “I was investigating a series of disappearances!”

“Wasn’t your sister there, too? Or was that the other time?” Isabela said.

Hawke was ready to lunge at her, but Leandra was just laughing.

“You know a friend of mine used to go to the Rose,” she said.

Hawke’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Well, more a family friend of the Amells than my own personal friend, but he confided in me. He was convinced he was in love with this one man working there… Said they’d run away together.”

Isabela leaned in, hands on her chin and eyes shining with interest. “What happened to them?”

“Well, I left before he ever did with Malcolm. But I did hear something about him disgracing the family name when he eloped with a stranger. If it was the same man from the Rose, I’ve no idea.”

“I’ll need to see if my contacts at the Blooming Rose know anything. Sounds like there’s a good story in there,” Varric said.

“I can give you names later, dear,” Leandra promised. She turned her head to Fenris, who had been seated a little closer to her recently. “What about you, Fenris? Any stories of the Rose? I’m not sure who Hawke brings where, anymore.”

Hawke was ready to die. This was it, her early grave. She’d always thought it would at least be a dragon eating her or something more badass. Instead it was her mother asking the man she loved if she’d ever dragged him along to a whorehouse.

“I—ah—no. I have not been...invited on one of these adventures,” Fenris said.

“And visiting on your own isn’t of an interest?” Leandra pressed.

Hawke gripped the tablecloth.

Fenris shook his head. “No.”

“Not interested in that sort of thing at all? Or is the focus on romance?”

“Mother,” Hawke said between clenched teeth, “ _enough._ ”

“It is not that either,” Fenris answered. The whole room had gone silent, hanging on his every word. “There are many things in life that are...uncertain. Hawke and the rest have helped in some ways that I could not have predicted. But those sorts of things are a question for the future. Until I know… Until my course is not in doubt, I have left such pursuits behind me.”

Hawke’s face fell. Sebastian took her hand under the table, squeezing it for reassurance. She met his eyes and gave a weak smirk. It was all she could muster after that.

“I see,” Leandra said, resting her chin on folded fingers. “Well, I hope that you find your path soon. For myself, I know I never expected to fall in love with an apostate and raise my children in Ferelden, but that was the way things were meant to be. All of you will probably get swept up in your lives before you realize its already forming around you. For every plan you make, there are other things to take you by surprise. The strength is in how you adapt.”

The quiet held for a bit, the only sound being Hermes underneath the table, gnawing on Hawke’s discarded bones. The large mabari didn’t seem to mind the drop in volume.

Then Leandra laughed, clapping her hands together. “But listen to me, I’m sounding like some old woman lecturing you all. That probably means it’s a good time for dessert.”

Orana hurried up out of her chair to assist Bodahn with the last bit of the meal, and Hawke excused herself to prepare some tea for everyone. She just didn’t want to be at the table for a little while, with all the drama. She could feel at least a couple pairs of eyes on her as she went, and heard four padding feet behind her. It was just Hermes, accompanying her and hoping for a doggie treat.

She treated him to a biscuit for being so good the whole night, and told Bodahn she’d handle the tea. Orana didn’t want to leave her alone, but at her insistence, she went back to the table with slices of cake to serve.

Moments later, someone else stepped through the door. Hawke almost dismissed them on instinct, but saw Sebastian’s gleaming teeth between his curved lips, and exhaled.

“Alright, you I’ll allow. But I don’t need help,” Hawke said.

“Are you certain? Those are a lot of cups to carry,” Sebastian said.

“We have trays,” Hawke countered.

“Then you can carry one tray and I’ll carry another,” he insisted.

Hawke glared.

“Less chance of spilling when your tray isn’t so heavy.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Alright, alright. But I’ve already gotten the water in the kettle and the leaves evenly distributed. Cream and sugar is...shit I think Sandal might have run off with it.”

“Should I—?”

“Bodahn will handle it.”

Hawke leaned back on the counter, tapping her fingers. “So that was something, huh?”

“Indeed,” Sebastian agreed. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but I realize you might not have been prepared for that.”

“He’s mentioned it before?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, coming to stand beside her and leaning as she did. Though instead of his elbows sticking out to grip his hands on the edge as she had hers, he clasped his palms together in front of him.

“I’m not at liberty to say much on the subject,” Sebastian said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “but I know that he has only not addressed the subject because he feels he isn’t ready. With Danarius still out there as a threat and his past such an unknown, how can he tie himself to something new? He has no desire to hurt you, of course. But that’s inescapable.”

“It’s not… I don’t blame him for any of that,” Hawke said. She paused to gather her thoughts in a way she could actually express aloud. “He is… I didn’t want mom to ask him about that. I didn’t expect her to, even. But now that it’s done at least I have more of an answer of why. Why he hasn’t tried again. Why he left in the first place. In a weird way it’s...comforting.”

“I suppose it was foolish of me, then, to hope a change of attire and scenery would make him reconsider,” Sebastian said, gazing at the ceiling.

Hawke turned dramatically. “That was your idea?”

“It’s my suit.”

Hawke laughed, because what else was there to do? “This night has been a disaster.”

“I didn’t think it was so bad,” Sebastian said.

“No, no, you’re right. It could have been much worse. Still…”

The kettle screeched, and Hawke went running over to collect it. With all the cups of tea poured, they went back to the table. Bodahn apologized for the empty container of cream and somewhat wet bowl of sugar, having been too late to rescue them from Sandal. He was going to get fresh things for the rest of them, while Orana tried to gather Sandal, whose sugar rush was giving him a burst of energy.

“Is it always like this here?” Merrill asked with mild alarm.

“Oh no,” Hawke said, “sometimes it’s much worse.”

Minutes passed, the tea was gone, and cookies disappeared one by one. The highest compliment was when Isabela shoved one into her mouth, moaned loudly, then declared that if Aveline didn’t marry Donnic quickly, she’d attempt to bed him for more sweets. Aveline was more sober than her, and managed to not take it personally.

Sandal had long since been put to bed. Orana fell asleep on the large chair by the fireplace after chasing him for so long. Everyone else was still gathered at the table, though it was getting to be that time when everyone headed for home.

Before anyone could stand and start to excuse themselves for the night, Hawke rose.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I don’t think I ever predicted I’d have a night like this when I was trying to avoid being eaten by darkspawn. But hey, I adapted!” Hawke said, winking at her mother. “I just wanted to share a song with you all before you left. Orana was going to help me with the lute bits but I guess I will just have to try for myself, instead.”

She laughed nervously as she went to get the instrument, while the others cheered with varying levels of enthusiasm. It ranged from Fenris, with a reserved and polite clap, to Isabela, who hollered and tried to get on her chair and start to sing before Hawke could start. Anders managed to hold her back, and Merrill calmed her down.

Hawke stood before all of them and started to pluck a gentle accompaniment for her voice. And then she sang.

 _Think not of casting off your dreams_  
_When the road goes on forever_  
_All is just not as it seems_  
_And we’ll walk the road together_

 _All the way through wind and rain_  
_I’ll never deceive my heart again_  
_Hand in hand, across the land_  
_We’ll walk the road together_

She performed the whole song, leaving the room enraptured. On the final chorus, her mother piped in with a slightly more warbly voice, adding a low harmony. Hawke almost teared up. She hadn’t heard her mother sing in ages. Hardly ever since her father died, and rarer still after the loss of Carver.

It was like within the song, something had returned to them. A feeling of safety, of peace, and of home. Ferelden was far behind them, but Hawke had all these people in Kirkwall who cared for her. Leandra had a bustling and happy home with her daughter, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana. There was hurt, but they weren’t alone in facing it.

There was more cheering once Hawke had finished, and Leandra stood to take a bow beside her daughter. Hawke was glowing in her delight, placing the lute back in its place and ruffling Hermes’ ears.

With that, everyone was free to begin shuffling home. Isabela ended up passing out, so Leandra had her stay the night in a guest room. Varric took Merrill home, and Aveline and Sebastian left together, going mostly the same way. Tyr and Anders gave polite goodbyes and promised to stop by again soon, before sliding back down into the cellar.

Fenris was last to leave, having offered to help bring dishes back into the kitchen. It was nice for Hawke, who was given a minute to avoid him as she hovered at the door, saying her goodbyes. But eventually the table was cleared and Leandra was reminding him of the hour. He had to return home.

Hawke watched as Fenris picked up the shoes he’d been given, probably also by Sebastian. They might not have even been the right size, which would have only added to the discomfort. Hawke couldn’t really tell since he was simply carrying them back.

“Thank you, Hawke,” he said. “This was...nice.”

Hawke nodded. “It was. You’re welcome.”

A moment passed, and Fenris turned the knob of the door. “Well. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Hawke said. “Get home safe.”

“Yes. I will.”

With one last look, Fenris left the Hawke household.

Sarah finally released a sigh, letting her shoulders droop and her back hunch. She was exhausted enough that she decided the conversation with her mom about not asking him those sorts of questions could wait until tomorrow. For tonight, she wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for ten or so hours. With luck, she wouldn’t be given to over thinking and staring at the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris’ outfit based on [this mod](https://staticdelivery.nexusmods.com/mods/141/images/3038-1-1318383385.jpg) which I’ve seen featured in a number of gameplay videos, and I finally found an excuse to have him use it.
> 
> The song is called [Walk the Road](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_z1gYz5Rhqo). It’s been done by a few different artists, the one I’m linking is by Kate Rusby, but the one I’m more familiar with is done by Cathie Ryan. I simply couldn’t find hers on youtube, probably because of copyright or what have you. But it’s a song that my family covers cause we have a little music thing we do! I’ve always found it pretty so I thought I might as well fit it in here.
> 
> Last more personal note, I could use a bit of cheering up right now? Just a lot of things happening so if you feel like leaving a comment it would really make my day. Either way, thank you all for continuing to read. You're the best!


	33. All That Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song for the third section.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eW69lO5CkQY)

After a long day, all Hawke wanted was a hot bath and a meal. She rolled her shoulders after setting down her longbow, listening to the bones crackle. It sounded like she was getting old. Her aching muscles made her feel more like she might be dying.

She was about to call out to Bodahn when she spotted Gamlen, shaking a bouquet in the dwarven man’s face and shouting something about being late. Hawke sighed, deciding to step in before things got out of hand. Could she not just have a night off?

“What are you on about, Uncle Gamlen?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Leandra was supposed to meet me for dinner tonight, but she never showed up! I’m here trying to figure out why and get some answers. Except no one seems to know where she is,” Gamlen said.

“What are those flowers you’re holding?” Hawke asked. She squinted at them. Lilies? There was something about those she was supposed to remember, but what?

“Probably another gift from your mother’s suitor. He’s sent a couple more already. She was getting concerned she was being stalked. Now I’m not so sure she was wrong,” Gamlen said.

Hawke’s breath caught. A bouquet with no name. A mysterious suitor. _The lilies._

“Bodahn, when did these come for her?” Hawke asked.

“I’m not sure, messere. They weren’t here when I came back this afternoon, and I don’t believe she mentioned them when she stepped out. I thought she was simply on her way to Lowtown to meet your uncle, her brother,” Bodahn said, glancing at Gamlen but not addressing him directly. “Is everything alright?”

Hawke ran a hand through her hair, suddenly frantic but with no idea what she should do. She needed to find her mother immediately. And if she had truly been taken just as the other women had been… It had been a blood mage abducting the women. Hawke needed help.

She wished she could have believed this ended with Gascard, but Ser Emeric died as well, didn’t he? After Gascard DuPuis was dead and gone. This had never been over, the murderer never deterred. But Hawke had no idea it would disturb her own home, her own family.

This just couldn’t be _happening._

“Wait just a minute,” Gamlen said, grabbing her arm.

Hawke had readied her bow again with fresh arrows, already in her gear and prepared to run out. She shot her uncle a furious look and pulled away from his hand.

“You aren’t leaving without me,” Gamlen insisted.

“Like hell I’m not. You’ll only slow me down and get yourself killed. You might be a piece of shit, but I refuse to lose _two_ members of my family tonight. Stay here with Bodahn,” Hawke said. She whistled for Hermes to follow her.

“She may be your mother, but she’s my sister. And I know the route she takes. You need me, and I will not stay here and be useless!”

“Fuck it! Fine! Just hurry and hide when the trouble starts,” Hawke insisted.

“Messere, should I do anything?” Bodahn asked.

Hawke paused. She was losing time, and couldn’t waste it on any more preparations. But the people she needed were spread throughout the city and she wouldn’t be able to reach them quickly enough.

“Tell Orana to go to Fenris’ house and tell him there’s an emergency. You, go down the cellar and fetch Anders. Direct both of them to the Hanged Man. We’ll get Varric once we’re there. It’s around Gamlen’s house so we should at least start out in that direction, right?” Hawke said, looking to Gamlen at the last word.

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Lowtown.”

“Alright then. We’re going,” Hawke said.

She bolted into the street, her uncle shouting after her, but she couldn’t slow down. She needed to run, at least for a moment. Anything to work the anxiety out of her system faster. But it wasn’t leaving her. And it wouldn’t for the rest of the night. Not until the dread, horror, and despair joined forces to take its place.

Fear was not the worst thing she could feel.

At last, she allowed Gamlen some time to catch up. In between cursing her and taking heavy breaths, he pointed her in the right direction towards the market and down the steps. That was the way she always liked to take, so she could watch the stalls closing down for the night. Sometimes she’d also pick up some fresh fruits and nag Gamlen to eat healthier. That was Leandra. Always a mother, even with her sibling.

Hawke wanted to cry. As she started down the steps, she heard metal plating clanking behind her. She knew who it was even before she turned her head.

Fenris stopped short, cheeks flushed because of the way he’d sprinted over. He took the steps down two at a time to meet Hawke where she’d stopped. They stared at one another for a moment, a silent concern passing through each of them.

“My mother is missing,” Hawke said. “Gamlen said—”

“We should hurry, then,” Fenris said.

Right. No need to explain now. Anything that delayed action was unnecessary. They just had to find her.

Hermes whined as they continued onwards, looking for any trace of Leandra. A bit of misplaced jewelry. Strands of gray hair. Something. Anything that might tell Hawke where her mother had gone.

Gamlen was the first to spot something. Actually, it was someone, a young boy wandering the streets. He ran ahead of Hawke and started to interrogate him. As it turned out, he’d seen someone of Leandra’s description.

“Did you see where she went?” Gamlen asked. The desperation in his voice was clear. That was easy enough for anyone to exploit.

“What do I get for telling you?” the boy asked. He had dirt on his cheek and chin, a bruise around his eye. His accent was Ferelden, same as Hawke’s.

She stepped forward, pulling a few spare coins from her pocket. “There, a few sovereign. It ought to feed you and your family for at least a month. Now, where did you see the woman go.”

The boy balked at the coins, then lit up. “Thank you, serah! I’m your man, through and through. I’ll tell you all that I know. She was here. It looked like she was going to take the bridge to Hightown, but then a man came up to her. He stumbled and fell at her feet, like he’d suddenly died right in front of her! His hands were all bloody, like he’d been in a fight. The lady shook him, and he asked for help. She got him to his feet—he was all wobbly, it was funny… Anyway, they left, and that’s all I saw.”

“Which way did she go with him?” Hawke asked.

The boy pointed. “Down that way. Turned the corner past the market there, but don’t know where after that.”

“Thank you. We appreciate the help,” Hawke said. She threw him an extra silver. “Keep out of trouble, and see if you can get to the healer in Darktown for that eye.”

The boy nodded, stunned by her continued kindness. She started away again, but Gamlen stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Look, whatever is going on, I don’t think I’ll be of any help to you any longer. I know I insisted on coming along but, well…” he said, fidgeting a little.

“It’s alright, Uncle Gamlen. Go back to the estate. Maybe she… She will want to see someone if she returned home,” Hawke said. She watched as Gamlen turned and went back the same way they had just come. She couldn’t hide the grimace on her face.

“We will find her, Hawke,” Fenris said, though he didn’t quite sound like he believed that.

“We’ll try,” she said.

Anders and Varric were already outside the Hanged Man, and ran up to Hawke when they saw her across the way. When they heard what was going on, Anders took Hawke into a big hug. It had been a while since they’d embraced like that, and she realized just how much she missed it. Not to mention how much she had needed it in that exact moment.

As they pulled apart, Hermes started barking. Hawke spun around to see that he’d found a bit of blood. It had to be something really important for him to draw her attention away like that.

“Fresh,” she said, coming up on it. “That boy said the man’s hands were bloody, didn’t he? This could be his.”

Or her mother’s. She didn’t want to consider that possibility though.

“This blood...it feels like it might have been used in blood magic. We should be careful, Hawke,” Anders warned.

Hawke’s stomach churned. They had to keep moving. This changed nothing.

The blood trail lead them down an alley, then made a sharp right turn. Hawke coughed against the smoke of the Foundry as they approached it. There were a few more spots by the bottom of a staircase.

“They must have gone inside,” Hawke said.

“We’ve been here before,” Varric said grimly.

“This was where we found Ninette’s...remains,” Fenris said, with a shifting glance at Hawke.

“We’ll find more than that this time,” Anders said.

“You can’t know that,” Hawke said.

She sent Hermes ahead to see if he could direct them towards the right path. He sniffed at the ground, finding more blood around a trap door that lead below the Foundry. It explained the mysterious disappearance of the figure they’d been chasing the last time.

There was no hesitation. Not a one of them even second guessed going down into the depths of the Foundry. Only poor Hermes had to stay behind, unable to climb the ladder with the rest of them. He would have to serve as a guard dog at the top.

Anders used his staff to cast light over the place, until he saw the unlit torches along the walls. He sent small plumes of flame, illuminating the whole room. Now they would be able to see where they were going.

Except, it also gained the attention of a number of shades that had been waiting for their arrival. A rage demon was at the back of the pack as well. The blood mage refused to go down easily, it seemed.

“How has this bastard not just bled out from all this damned magic?!” Varric shouted over the chaos as the fighting began.

“He has probably used the blood of his victims,” Anders said, before remembering who they were looking for. “Or other people. Who aren’t your mother.”

Hawke didn’t respond. She just fired arrow after arrow into the things until they faded away. Then she ran. She didn’t take time to stop for air or anything like that. She just kept moving.

Fenris kept up with her, every single step. The other two held back a little, cleaning out the few enemies that were left behind for them.

Hawke stopped short at the sight of a woman, about her mother’s size with similar hair, lying in a cot. It could have been her, were it not for her skin being a few shades lighter. It was just off. Still, she went to investigate.

“This is the woman Gascard had taken,” Hawke said quietly, examining her. “Alessa, wasn’t that her name? That lying snake was probably working with this guy the whole time. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“We’ll make sure this one pays, as well,” Fenris said.

That was closer to what she wanted to hear. Anger was easier to contemplate than sorrow. And she didn’t even know just how bad things were, yet.

They moved further in, deeper into the killer’s lair. Demons attacked every so often, but did not stop their progress, only hindered it. At last, they came upon what looked to be someone’s living quarters, furnished like a living room with a bedroom on the other side of a stack of bookshelves. As if it were a real house, not some dank and dark basement of a long abandoned factory building.

There was a stack of papers on a table. Hawke went to investigate, while the others searched for clues or signs that Leandra had been there. What Hawke discovered were series of notes, detailing his selection of each victim. One woman had good hands with slender fingers, another the perfect legs, and another had the perfect slim shoulders. Every time, it was not the whole woman he wanted, just a piece. Only ever a piece.

She put them down before it turned her stomach, though she did see some more in depth notes before she did. They mentioned a process of blood magic and reanimation. Would he really just kill women only to bring them back to life? There were plenty of already dead people to test his magic on, if that was all he was doing. No, the way he seemed to hack apart his victims and note which bits he liked best, it suggested something far more sinister.

There was a separate page, older than the rest, that fell as she tried to return them. She picked it up and read. It sounded like he was asking someone in the Circle for aid, and they happily offered it. They called the man their friend, and congratulated him on his findings. It didn’t help with the queasy feeling in her gut.

At least she got a name out of it: Quentin. The sender was curiously marked with a single letter “O,” however. More mysteries would always arrive with each answer.

“Hawke,” Varric said, “look at this. Don’t you think she looks a bit like…?”

“Mother,” Hawke finished. She saw the painting Varric was staring at, and walked over to him. It was like a shrine for the woman depicted, probably a wife or sister. Her face bore a remarkable resemblance to Leandra. “That’s...eerie.”

“That’s certainly one word for it,” Anders agreed. “All these books are on death and blood magic and demons. Not one of these is for leisure. This man is clearly obsessed, whatever it is he’s trying to do.”

“We will put a stop to it, regardless,” Fenris said.

Hawke nodded. They ran down the last remaining path, searching for any sign of life. They’d not encountered demons for a little while. It was probably because they were so close to where the killer lived and worked. He didn’t keep guards lingering around his personal space.

Then, Hawke saw him. Quentin stood before a woman in a chair, who was slumped over with her back to them. He straightened as the group approached him. Around him were tables covered in bloodied tools that looked like torture devices. Though some also looked like medical supplies like Anders had at the clinic.

There were also diagrams of human bodies, sketches of magic circles, and other such papers strewn about. There was nothing there that didn’t have a little blood on it. Even an old teacup he had left lying around had smudges of blood around the handle. With all of that came the most unbearable stench of rot and decay.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Quentin said, watching as Hawke stepped closer. “Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.”

“Where is she?” Hawke demanded, nostrils flaring. She didn’t care if she only had a tiny blade on her hip. She was ready to charge.

Quentin’s smile was sickening. “You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special, and now she is a part of something...greater.”

“I do not fucking care what you have to say unless you are answering one simple question. Now where is my mother?” Hawke said. She wanted to ready an arrow, but she didn’t know if he could easily threaten Leandra if she was too hasty. Much as she hated it, she was forced to play a longer game.

“I have done the impossible,” Quentin said, with a glance back to the woman in the chair. She was dressed in all white, like a bride. “I have touched the face of the Maker and lived. Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?”

He paced back to the chair, his hands gripping the top of it. At Hawke’s silence, Quentin answered his own question. “Love. I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers… And at last, her face.” He had moved around to face the woman again, cupping her cheek. “Oh, this beautiful face.”

Hawke was prepared to be sick. That was what the papers described. Piecing a dead woman together like a puzzle of other people, who were still alive until Quentin found them. To make a patchwork person and bring her to life in the place of a dead lover… It was insane.

Hawke’s final realization was accompanied by a sinking feeling in her gut. The face was the final piece he’d gotten, and her mother was the last woman he took. His project was already complete.

Leandra was already gone.

The patchwork person stood, all on its own, and faced them. A sob caught in Hawke’s throat, the horror of seeing her mother’s face with all these other incorrect parts overtaking her. Fenris was fast to come up behind her, holding her up when her knees buckled.

“You sick bastard!” Anders cried.

Quentin continued as if they weren’t even there. “I’ve searched far and wide to find you again, beloved. No force on this earth will part us.” He took his creation by the hand as it shambled over to him, and forced a barrier around the two of them. Then he reached out and summoned more demons to defend him.

Hawke could see she had to fight, but was no longer certain she had the strength. Her eyes blurred with tears and her lungs didn’t want to take in air. Fenris kept holding her, but he could not fight and do so at the same time. He hurriedly lifted her enough to guide her feet back to Anders.

“Keep Hawke safe. I will take care of the demons,” Fenris commanded. “Varric!”

No one questioned these orders. But Hawke blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream the moment the fight truly began.

“No,” she whispered.

“Hawke?” Anders said.

“No,” she said again. “You don’t fight alone.”

She rose her bow, and even through tears she fired true. The arrow shattered against the magical barrier Quentin had risen, but it trembled under the force. She shot that point, again and again and again, always aiming for Quentin’s heart. Hawke could see him sweat, fighting to maintain focus on both the demons he summoned to give them strength, and the barrier to keep it from falling.

Fenris was too strong, however, and fought fiercer than ever. His movements were clearer than they had been when he faced Hadriana, but held all the power of that fury. He was managing to skirt that edge between unbridled rage and a calm temperament. It was a sight to see, and a power to fear.

Quentin had to choose to raise more demons, or risk his shield facing the full force of Fenris’ blade. But this was his undoing.

Hawke’s focus remained on Quentin, never leaving him. As soon as he moved to raise more demons, she let another arrow fly. His barrier shattered like glass around him, and the arrow sank deep into his chest, piercing his heart.

Quentin fell to his knees, gagging on his own blood. The patchwork person fell behind him, toppling unnaturally backwards. It was in no way truly living. All he had done was grant it motion, not a soul.

With the mage down, the demons fell away. The call of their master was no longer there to hold them to this plane. Fenris and Varric could stop and rest.

But Hawke was sent running again. She slid down beside the patchwork person, staring at her mother’s face as her shoulders started to shake. Her eyes filled back up with tears, her face pulling into a look of pure despair as she started to sob.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Leandra’s voice croaked, soft and dry. “I knew you would come for me.”

“Mother?” Hawke said, barely able to speak herself. “You’re still—?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have long,” Leandra said. “It’s alright, Sarah. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“But I was too late!” she said. She grabbed one of the patchwork hands, but recoiled at the cold and clammy feeling of the skin. No other part of the body was able to move. Only the face, the part Leandra still had control over.

“You did all you could. I would ask no more of you. I’m sorry for all the times I blamed you for Carver. You had lost your brother, and it was unfair of me to say. And your sister… Keep looking after her.”

“You know that I will,” Hawke said.

“Yes. My brave girl. I’ll be with your father soon. And Carver. Please, never lose that smile of yours. Promise me you will find your happiness?”

Hawke nodded. “I… I…”

Leandra’s eyes closed.

Hawke screamed.

✖✖✖✖✖

Unable to get Hawke to stand on her own, Fenris had lifted Hawke up into his arms and carried her out. The only part she was forced to do on her own was the ladder, and even then he offered to carry her on his back. His blade would have made it difficult, though not impossible to do. Still, she managed to climb up all her own.

At the top she continued walking, too, reuniting with Hermes. He immediately began to whine at the sight of her sullen face, but she cooed at him with reassurances. She would be alright. Everything was okay.

The lies felt hollow, but they calmed the mabari down again.

“To think, he did all that with blood magic,” Anders said. “It’s unthinkable.”

“Someone in the Circle was helping him. Fascinated by what he was doing,” Hawke said. “It doesn’t matter, does it? The mad ones will look for power. The good ones will remain good. In or out. So why does he get to roam free and kill my mother while my sister remains locked in a prison?!”

No one was arguing with her, then. They weren’t even sure what point she was trying to make, be it pro or anti-mage. She didn’t know either. She was so angry. She hated blood magic, surely that was a fact. But all magic wasn’t like this. Anders, her sister, her father Malcolm…

Those glowing green hands she thought of with such fondness.

Hawke closed her eyes, trying to picture them, but the scenes kept shifting to red. Too much red. On hands, on the floor, on discarded teacups.

Her eyes flew back open.

“We should leave this place,” Fenris said. It was the only thing of which they were all certain, now.

Fenris helped Hawke to her feet, letting her lean against him as they walked together outside the Foundry. Day would break in a few hours, and none of them had gotten any rest. Hawke didn’t think she would be able to even when she was in bed. Plus, Gamlen was waiting back at the house for news.

She leaned heavier against Fenris, prepared to cry again, but stopped just short of sobbing when she was swept up off her feet. He was carrying her like before, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. She stared up at his face, bewildered.

“I’ll get you home,” he said.

She nodded.

They left the other two behind, barely a memory that anyone else even existed among them. There was such intense awareness of how close together they were, of every breath and step and shifting movement. Hawke wanted to ask if her quiver and bow were uncomfortable against his arm, but couldn’t find the ability to speak.

He held her like this all the way to Hightown. Suddenly, Hawke felt like there were eyes on her again. Hightown tended to give off that feeling of being watched and judged. It was what Kirkwall’s rich did best.

“I think I can make it the rest of the way,” she said.

“Are you certain?” Fenris asked.

“Yes.”

He let her back down gently, her feet meeting the ground as if they were two feathers floating gently to the earth. Hawke’s heart pounded in her ears. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you, Fen.”

They made it the rest of the way without any more words. He stared at the door for a good long while, waiting while she opened it. Then it was held open, as she stared back.

Hawke did not want to be alone, tonight. But she couldn’t ask Fenris to come inside. He’d made that clear the night he’d spoken with her mother.

And there was the heartache again. Back in another wave with other pains layered on top. She loathed to bear it alone, but she also couldn’t stand it with him still there.

Hawke bid Fenris goodnight, and closed the door.

✖✖✖✖✖

Gamlen didn’t come back to the Amell estate since that first night. The first night Hawke ever spent without her mother. After her father and brother, she hoped her heart might be more accustomed to the loss. But it hurt all the same, and left her with no desire to go anywhere or do anything. She spent most of the first days in bed, with Bodahn bringing her meals and Orana encouraging her to at least wash and change her clothes.

The first person to visit was Sebastian. He’d heard through the grapevine—most likely through Fenris, Hawke knew—and wanted to see how Hawke was holding up. He also knew her mother had not been given her last rites, and offered to do so for her.

“The Maker will accept her into his arms no matter what, but you might find it comforting. You can even join me in prayer?” he said.

Hawke didn’t know what difference it made. But her family was Andrastian, and Leandra would have wanted it. So Hawke nodded.

“I know it was years ago now, but could you do it for Carver as well? I never thought to ask someone in the Chantry to do it, without a body to burn,” Hawke said.

Sebastian looked surprised, but agreed to send them both off together. He guided Hawke in a simple prayer, spoke a bit of the Chant of Light, and asked the Maker to take the souls of the departed into his arms and guide them into his great light. By the end, Hawke wound up crying again, so Sebastian rubbed circles into her back and helped her back to bed.

He stayed long enough to share lunch with her, mostly to be certain she was still eating. After that, Sebastian gave her a small kiss on her temple, then left. Though he promised to be back soon.

Varric was next. He felt like Sebastian had stolen his thunder a bit. The only reason he hadn’t come sooner was that he wasn’t sure what to say. After all, he’d been there. He knew what happened to Leandra wasn’t peaceful or kind. It was the most gruesome death imaginable, and no one ever would have thought such a thing was even possible.

But he didn’t mention these things. No, Varric offered the gift of distraction. He told stories of what Hawke had been missing at the Hanged Man or around the city in general. When he ran out of those, he shared stories of his youth. She rarely actually got to hear these sorts of things. The stories Varric loathed to tell were always about himself.

Hawke thanked him, in the end, and he stayed with her for the night so she didn’t have to sleep alone again. It gave Merrill quite the surprise in the morning, when she stopped by to drop off some flowers. Not lilies, she knew better than that, but there were some lovely and oddly familiar blooms.

“Where did you get those, exactly?” Hawke asked.

Merrill beamed, declaring, “From that lovely little garden by your house!”

Hawke actually managed to laugh. It was the first time since her mother’s death. Varric quickly explained that those were not free for the taking, and promised Hawke he’d make the appropriate apologies for her. The three shared a breakfast of tea and honeyed toast, then Hawke was alone again.

But not for long. Aveline came that afternoon, glad to see that Hawke was out of bed and dressed in proper clothing. She gave a quick update on her life, and let her know Donnic said hello as well.

Then she cut to the chase. “I don’t really care what else is going on. How are you feeling?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the sugarcoated one?” Hawke said dryly.

“You know me, Hawke. I’ll take honesty over lies anyday, hard as the truth might be.”

“Then I feel like shit. My mother is dead because of blood magic. I don’t even know how to feel about that anymore. No part of my life can be removed from politics, can it?”

“No part of any life can be fully removed from that,” Aveline said. “They’re a reflection of who we are as people. Our beliefs and our values… But I know what you mean. This doesn’t have to be some grand statement about your feelings towards magic, Hawke. We don’t always see eye to eye on these things, but you still tend to have the right of it. There are good people and bad, and the same is true of mages. One does not negate the other.”

Hawke nodded. She knew all of that already. In fact, she’d been through this argument with herself in her own head over the past few days. But there was something comforting about hearing it echoed out loud in a voice not her own.

“I could also say, ‘At least you knew your mother,’ but that’s more about me than you,” Aveline said.

“To be honest, I’m sick of talking about myself anyway. No one thought the day would ever come, but here we are,” Hawke said. Even heartbroken, she still cracked jokes. But she didn’t laugh at them. “What do you remember about your mother?”

“I just have flashes of...impossibly long hair,” Aveline said. “But my father… Would you like to hear one thing?”

“You’ve never talked about him before.”

“My father trained me in all the skills he had been forced to give up. He spent everything to get me into Cailan’s service. You know what I remember? When he read to me. Stupid things; dragons and heroes. He wouldn’t turn a page until I reached over and took his hand. That big man made every step of the story my choice. I loved that.”

Aveline took a deep breath out. Hawke sipped her tea, waiting to hear more from her.

“He died of the wasting, in a Denerim ward. Those last weeks, I read to him. I had to take his hand to turn the pages, and I couldn’t tell if he was too weak, or if it was the old game. He smiled at that, at his big girl.” She sniffled a little. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“It’s beautiful, Aveline. Thank you,” Hawke said.

“I would offer you a drink, but this is your house,” Aveline said.

“I’ll pass for now. Another time, though. You owe me.”

Aveline chuckled. “Alright Hawke, but that’s only good for _one_ drink. Not five.”

She passed on lunch, even though Bodahn still hadn’t adjusted to cooking for one less person. Hawke had her meal in silence.

Isabela brought life back to the house. She had a bottle that she actually purchased proper, this time, and commanded Bodahn to bring them two glasses. Hawke didn’t even get a chance to refuse a drink.

“We are going to get silly and reminisce together. Nothing leaves ghosts hanging longer than the refusal to talk about them. When we lost one of my crew, we always went around to talk about them. Everyone had to say something, even as pointless as mentioning their love of pickled beets. And it always helped,” Isabela said. “Now drink, so you can loosen those lips and start chattering.”

Hawke did as she was told. By the end of the night, she was passed out in her bed from drinking too much, and Isabela was asleep on the chair. No one dared to move them.

By morning, Isabela was gone again, but a hangover came to visit Hawke. A little birdy handily passed along the message to Darktown that Hawke had been imbibing the night before, and it was Anders’ turn to look after her. He gave her a bit of light healing, and made her his special tea with honey.

For once, there was no lecture, and barely any talk of mages. He simply wanted to be sure that Hawke didn’t now think badly of mages because she lost her mother to one. She informed him that she’d already spoken to Aveline about it. Anders made a face, but Hawke clarified that she didn’t say anything negative.

“There are good and bad people, and good and bad mages,” she paraphrased. “Bethany is one of the good. So are you and Merrill. At least, I don’t think Merrill is evil.”

“She still performs blood magic,” Anders said.

Hawke could tell he was holding back from a longer, angrier rant. “But she doesn’t do it with intent to harm. She may be a little trusting or naive, but she isn’t a bad person. With luck, her mistakes aren’t cataclysmic.”

Anders sighed. “I’m just glad to hear you haven’t changed your stance. I’m counting on you to always help, whenever the time comes that you’re needed.”

Hawke cocked her head. “What happened to trying to keep me out of it?”

There was a long pause.

“You didn’t stay out of it then, either. If you’re willing, I’ve decided to no longer deny the help.”

But Hawke realized there was more to it. Before, he’d been in love with her still. It had been an instinct to protect her. He still cared for her, yes, but it was not the same. He was not responsible for her safety. And the one he loved could handle himself. No one would think that Tyr would need guarding from anything.

Anders left a supply of his tea behind, making sure Bodahn only gave it to Hawke. She managed a little giggle. It was a gift specifically for her. Not that she minded sharing. She would at least give a little to Orana.

It wasn’t until the following day that she finally saw Fenris again. He came later in the evening, after supper. Bodahn sent him up to Hawke’s room, where he hesitated by the door for a good while. He was the last of anyone to come and see her. Not unless she counted Tyr, which she didn’t really. He wasn’t so much a friend as he was simply Anders’ bodyguard and lover.

But Fenris she cared for deeply. Even though she understood the decision to avoid her, Hawke had missed him. At night she’d pretend like he had come to hold her, to make it easier to fall asleep. Now that he was there with her, Fenris just stood and stared.

“You wanted to see me?” Hawke said.

“I...am not certain what I should say,” Fenris said. He came a little closer, but did not sit with her on the bed.

“You don’t need to say anything.”

“Then, what can I do?”

Hawke simply patted the spot beside her. “Just sit with me for a little while?”

He agreed to that wordlessly, and sat down. At first they were stiff, side by side, but eventually Hawke gave in and rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes there and just breathed. She had pictured herself crying against his chest, or sobbing until she fell asleep in his arms. But her eyes were dry and she felt no need for tears.

Because she was safe. Even with all the heartache, Fenris was good to Hawke. He was kind. And he had a nice shoulder for leaning on.

“You know, Fen, she did like you,” Hawke said. “My mother told me so, after that night you were all here. She said you seemed ‘like a man who had lived twice his years.’ She thought you were smart, and polite, and nice. And she complimented your voice a number of times.”

“I...thank you for telling me, Hawke. I am only sorry I did not know her better,” Fenris said.

“It would have been nice to have dinner together like that again.”

“Perhaps we will, in the future. We will leave a place for her, as well. To honor her.”

Hawke smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

She fell asleep there, rested on his shoulder. He helped get her tucked in proper, and let Hermes up on the bed as he liked. Hawke woke up just long enough to watch Fenris struggle with the decision to leave, before ultimately making his exit.


	34. Shaky Ground

It had been under a week since Leandra’s passing, and Hawke already had to answer some emergency call. The viscount didn't give the people of Kirkwall time to grieve, apparently. Though he did offer a word or two of condolences when Hawke first arrived.

“I heard about your mother, Serah Hawke. Terrible business, that. I am deeply sympathetic towards your loss. My own son has—well—he has run off again,” Viscount Dumar said. “I had hoped his fascination with the Qunari had ended with that one… Seamus has always been the sort of boy to follow his heart before his head. But now he is nowhere to be found, and there are rumors he intended on joining them. Becoming like them and living in their way.”

“Shouldn't that be his choice? No offense, but Seamus didn't seem like a fool when we met. I think he does really know what he wants, and he wants this. Let him go his own way,” Hawke said.

The viscount released a deep and irritated sigh. “My other citizens are free to do as they wish. If a few people join the Qunari and leave with them, it is no great loss. The city is overcrowded as it is, and it won't make a difference overall. But you must understand, he is my son, my blood. He would likely take my seat once I am gone. If he were with those o— the Qunari… If he were with them it would send a message to the people of Kirkwall.”

Hawke wondered what message he imagined that being. Bow down to the Arishok? It’s his city, now?

“I have tolerated their presence here for years, now, and still no ship has come to take them away. I will give them this space in the docks, I have even seen a few put to work! But my son is not something I am willing to give, or even capable of giving. Seamus knows his very existence is steeped in the politics of this city. His actions shape the views of the people. You understand that, don't you?”

Hawke didn’t respond.

“Please, Serah Hawke, convince Seamus to come home. He respects you, looks to you as an example. I would be willing to encourage his idealism, but not blindly. Please, you must understand. If not the politics of the situation, then you must know what it is like to lose your family. If Seamus goes to convert to the Qun, he is lost to me.”

It was a low blow, and surely the viscount knew this. He’d led with condolences, after all. Hawke didn’t have a child of her own to speak of, but she had seen what her mother had gone through in the years after Carver and Bethany. Yes, one still lived, but in the Circle. She was unreachable and barely existing in their eyes. To join the Qun would be similar, save for the point of choice.

“The last reports I received said he was heading in the direction of the Qunari compound. Find out what you’re able, and keep this quiet. We can’t afford any more incidents with the Qunari,” Viscount Dumar warned.

“I will see what I can do,” Hawke said. If Seamus would at least talk to his father, perhaps this could work out for the both of them. This didn’t need to go the way of war. Though the Arishok’s words rang into Hawke’s head.

_I can fulfill my duty to the Qun with far less annoyance by sifting through rubble._

No one could say they hadn’t been forewarned. Still, for this to be the tipping point didn’t seem likely. Seamus was important to the viscount, certainly, but what was one man in the eyes of the Qun? Unless the Arishok was desperate to replenish numbers lost over the years from deaths and defectors, to allow one man the chance to speak with his father before committing to their lifestyle wouldn’t be too much to ask.

Then again, Hawke would never have claimed to understand what went on in the head of that very large man.

A walk through the streets of Kirkwall should have been a simple task. Still, Hawke should have known that _nothing_ would ever be made easy for her. She waltzed straight into a trap, standing by herself in a darkened alley and surrounded on all sides.

“Remember, she’s not to reach the compound alive,” one of the goons said, brandishing twin daggers.

Hawke cursed under her breath. So there was more to this after all? There was no way Seamus would have hired people. She’d spoken to him a number of times after rescuing him. He was mild-mannered and idealistic, and hated mercenaries ever since the death of Ashaad. Hawke couldn’t blame him that. Sebastian similarly hated mercenary companies, and Hawke found herself less trusting of blood magic, lately.

The current concern, however, was less a question of “who” and more one of “how.” Hawke had given up close quarters fighting for the most part, yet constantly found herself drawn into it. The alleyway was narrow, and there were too many people to simply push through. Less behind her than in front. It was five to six on each side.

Hawke started to move, faking forward then turning on the ball of her foot to shoot an arrow at the first guy in her way. Downing five was easier by a count of one, and one more as she made that four. The other men stumbled over their fallen comrade. None of them were archers as she was, apparently.

The other issue came at her back in the form of the six from the other end. Hawke leaned forward to dodge the swipe of a dagger and kicked like she’d seen horses do when agitated. She managed to knock the wind out of the person, forcing them to cough and reel back.

Hawke managed to loose another arrow into the neck of one of the four, paring them down to three. But again more lunged at her back, forcing her to whirl around again and draw the knife from her belt. Metal met metal as she blocked one blade, but the other came freely as she was caught up pushing back.

The dagger cut at her armor, then again as the man twisted his wrist to drag the edge back again in an upward sweep. The second strike hit skin, drawing blood. Hawke hissed. She allowed him closer for a second, tricking him into believing she’d been significantly weakened before kneeing him in the balls.

The guy crumpled before her, dropping his weapons. Hawke traded her dinky little knife for his red steel daggers, twirling them in her hands. It had been a while, but her muscle memory made up for a lack of practice enough to fight back.

She released a smoke bomb first, finding one in the pouch on her waist. It flew at the three, still her goal for getting out of the enclosed space. Then she lifted the bandana around her neck to her face to cover her nose, and rushed at them.

The smoke still made her eyes water, but the way the three mercenaries coughed made it easy to find them by sound alone. She cut at their hands and faces wherever she could land a blade. If they died, so be it. They weren’t exactly here to show her any mercy, either.

Hawke could hear the rest approaching, uncertain of their number as the two she fought might have recovered, but she couldn’t linger on the thought. She pushed the men in front of her down and sprinted.

It was only a few blocks since she’d last seen a posted guard. Any of Aveline’s men would know to help Hawke. She was trusted among them, and had even gone drinking with a few of them. For all the rotten luck earlier, Hawke was ready to cry at the sight of the guardsman ahead.

“Donnic!” she called, waving one of the bloodied daggers over her head. “A little help, please?!”

His eyes widened, his helmet only removed to speak to a concerned citizen. The old man before him startled, giving a little yelp and hobbling away with help from his cane. Sometimes it was easy to forget not everyone lived this chaotic of a life.

Seeing the men trailing behind her, however, Donnic was quick to restore his helm to its rightful place and draw his blade. Hopefully, he was a bit of a better fighter than when she’d last rescued him from being ambushed.

A few seconds in, and Hawke was marking an apology letter to Aveline on her to do list. How could she ever doubt her friend’s expert training? Every move Donnic made was like a fine mimic of Aveline, but with a little more emphasis put into the arms. Aveline was a lot more about those legs, getting a solid footing to be immovable.

Donnic, on the other hand, seemed partial to the “bashing in skulls” school of thought. The force behind his shield was incredible. Then his sword worked as a perfect extension of his arm, carving through the men like the main course of a Santinalia feast.

Sure, Aveline would claim it was his heart she loved above all if Hawke ever asked, but Hawke could imagine their training sessions with a lot more clarity now. As well as their “training sessions.” If only Isabela were there for Hawke to make that comment out loud.

When given the assist, it was a lot simpler to remove the threat of the mercenaries. It was still a lot of work, especially as Hawke alternated between the use of daggers and arrows, and Hawke was breathless by the end. The good news was that there _was_ an end to it, and it wasn’t with Hawke’s dying breath. That had been delayed another day, thank the Maker.

“What have you gotten yourself into now, Serah Hawke?” Donnic asked, barely able to breathe.

Hawke was in a similar boat, leaning her hands on her knees and heaving. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t get dizzy, holding up an index finger to indicate that she needed a few moments before she could respond. As they caught their breaths, Donnic did a basic investigation of the bodies.

“Mercenaries?” he said.

“Not sure who sent them,” Hawke wheezed at last. “I was just supposed to look for the viscount’s son. He was going to join the Qunari. The mercs mentioned the compound. They’re involved.”

“Hired by the viscount’s son, perhaps?” Donnic said.

Hawke shook her head. “It’s not like him. He hates mercenaries and likes me. He wouldn’t have me killed, and they were specifically looking for me, I’m pretty sure.”

“There is no shortage of people who dislike the Qunari in Kirkwall. Aveline has told me the number of vandalism cases around the docks alone keep her desk from ever being clear. Not to mention assaults, arson, theft…”

“So our suspect list is long,” Hawke said, finally standing straight again. “Doesn’t matter right now. I need to find Seamus.”

“I can’t leave my post, Serah Hawke. But you need aid, in case there are others around,” Donnic insisted.

“I’ll manage. Now that I know people are after me there’s another way I could go. Loops around a little longer, but people won’t think to look there,” Hawke said. She found a place to store the daggers safely on her person. They would be needed again before the day was done; of that she was certain. “Do me a favor and let Aveline know of this as soon as you’re able. Have her gather whoever she can find quickly to help, and tell them to go to the Hanged Man. I’ll meet them there when I’m able, in case this thing blows up in our faces. I get the feeling this is not the end of the fighting, today.”

Donnic nodded. “When is it ever?”

She wished she didn’t relate to that as much as she did. Much as her aching muscles needed a rest, she would need to raise a sewer grate when she got to the right one. Then she’d make her way through the Undercity.

✖✖✖✖✖

Stepping into the compound alone felt like having a deathwish, but Hawke already looked a mess and would not alarm the Qunari further. She also now carried the smell of sewer water and rat feces on her boots. Why anyone in the world would pick her as a diplomat, she still hadn’t a clue. Yet, here she was, exercising diplomacy and giving what few polite words and phrases she could think of.

“Serah Hawke,” the Arishok said.

“Ah, good, you remember me,” Hawke said. It wasn’t the time to joke, but it eased her nerves. His reaction to it, however, only increased them again. No more quippy statements. “I’m here looking for the viscount’s son, Seamus.”

“Are you?” the Arishok challenged. He lowered his head, leaning on his forearms. “In four years I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, _bas_ still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose.”

He looked Hawke head in the eye. His high up perch made her feel like prey to an eagle, rather than giving the feeling of an equal. “The son has made a choice,” the Arishok continued. “You will not deny him that. Or is this no longer the philosophy you uphold?”

“His father simply wants to talk. The viscount is concerned that the people of the city might read into the fact that you’ve taken Seamus in as your own. If they react negatively to this news, it affects us all,” Hawke said.

“I don’t fear the whole of them together, and it is not my role to reject the free choice of viddathari. He is the viscount’s son no longer, but one of the Qun. It was of his own demand. He is neither my slave nor my prisoner.” The Arishok waved his hand, as if pushing any argument Hawke might attempt aside. “He is not even here.”

“Pardon?” Hawke said.

“He went to his father. Ask the viscount why he would send you and a letter, both.”

“He made no mention of a letter,” Hawke said, squinting as if it would help her understand. Maybe she could see if the Arishok was bluffing to hide Seamus? But no, he never struck her as the sort to lie. He was threatening and powerful, yes, but always forthcoming.

The Arishok proved that point once more, saying, “They are meeting at the chantry. A last, pointless appeal, I assumed. Until you came insisting upon the same.”

Chalk up one more oddity to the case. The viscount wanted Seamus brought directly to him, but now he was being sent to the chantry? There was no reason to involve them in this. If Hawke didn’t know better, she might reason it as neutral ground, but the realization struck her quick enough that it escaped her lips.

“Mother Petrice,” she said. Hawke looked up to the Arishok, who only continued to glower down at her. “She must be the one behind this deception. I can think of no one else.”

“A suspect in many things,” the Arishok said, seeming to agree with the conclusion. “If she has threatened someone under my command again, there is only one response.”

“Just give me some time to confirm this. If our suspicions are right, then I defer the judgment to you. It is your people who have suffered her attacks most, after all,” Hawke said. So what if she had no actual right to say so? It made the most sense, and was more likely to appease him than talking about going through the so-called proper channels.

Though he barely seemed to hear her. “This is the last insult I intend to suffer. Resolve this, or her hiding place will be reduced to rubble.”

The last word made Hawke’s ears ring. He was getting closer to the edge, and the outcome would be a city of pebbles and ash. The Arishok was likely prepared to call for war at any moment, and still no one knew why they stayed to begin with.

“I will be watching, Hawke.”

That went without saying.

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline had grabbed Fenris, finding that Isabela and Varric were unfortunately out when they arrived at the Hanged Man. She’d honestly forgotten about Sebastian until Hawke asked, but Fenris mentioned he would likely not be available at this time of day. Sometimes it still eluded her that any of her friends had lives of their own where they ran about the city however they pleased.

With luck, she wouldn’t need the backup anyway. Aveline asked about Hawke’s arm, however. Donnic must have mentioned it, besides the fact that the cut and dried blood on her armor were very visible. Hawke shrugged it off, refusing to admit to how much it stung.

Fenris glared, stopping her short. He pulled a poultice and a bandage out for her, then held out his hand. “We may be in a hurry, but you won’t fight as well if you don’t treat that injury.”

Hawke could feel the flush rushing to her cheeks, and looked away even as she gave him her arm. It was a quick treatment, running the fluid over her armor and letting it seep through the hole to clean out the cut. Hawke winced, but made no sound. Fenris wrapped the bandage around tight enough to keep it from bleeding more without cutting off her circulation.

“We should seek Anders when this is done,” he said.

Hawke quirked her head at the suggestion. It was what she would have done regardless, but to hear him admit it was odd. He still didn’t like Anders much, and that feeling was mutual as far as Hawke understood it.

But they were in a hurry. This was no time for making reparations between her feuding friends.

They ran to the Chantry, only slowing in moments where they needed to regain the ability to breathe evenly. If fighting injured was difficult, fighting exhausted was impossible. If anything were to happen, they needed to remain in a decent enough shape to defend themselves.

Night was just beginning to fall as they approached the steps of the Chantry. The last of those who had gone to say their prayers to the Maker were leaving for home and supper. Sisters guided some of the weaker parishioners out, while others swept around the outside of the building.

Hawke felt numerous eyes on her as she ascended to the main doors. Whether they were of the citizens or the sisters, she couldn’t be certain. She didn’t dare to be distracted by that concern.

She pushed open the double doors, one hand on each to clear the way. Despite the number of sisters outside seeming no different than most other days, the inside was bare. Not a whisper passed through the halls. No one even stood around to watch the candles and be certain the wax didn’t drip onto the finer carpets. There was no need to worry about a fire, with most of the building constructed with stone, but to ruin the decor was probably a sin. One of the lesser known parts of the Chant of Light.

But no, there was not a soul in sight. Not until Hawke saw the bowed head of one Seamus Dumar. His wild black hair was recognizable the instant she spotted it. Hawke stepped forward, mouth opening to call to him, but she hesitated. Announcing her presence would be foolish if this was a trap, and it certainly seemed like one.

Not even seemed. Hawke had been lead into trap after trap over the years. She knew what they looked like by now enough to be confident that this was another one.

Aveline and Fenris followed in close step, all of them moving quietly. They made their way to where Seamus knelt, unmoving. Hawke approached from behind.

“Seamus?” she whispered. “Are you…?”

He collapsed. The sound of his body hitting the floor echoed in a dull thud around the chantry. Other than falling, his pose did not change. His body was stiff, his shoulder cracking when it met the floor.

Hawke’s eyes went wide, a horrified gasp choking from her throat.

“Look what you have done,” a familiar voice said, the sound of it full of pride but wearing a mask of pity. “To pounce upon the viscount’s son, a repentant convert, in the chantry itself? A crime with no excuse. But what is one to expect of Serah Hawke, who has allied herself with oxmen? Your Qunari masters will finally answer.”

“Petrice,” Hawke snarled. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?! We could very well be on the brink of _war,_ and you’ve incited even more violence! What does this achieve?”

Mother Petrice met her glare, flanked by a templar and three armed fanatics. “I have kept the fear of the Qunari fresh in every sermon, every prayer. They will know whose word to believe. When people learn of this attack, they will rise. Not zealots or the unknowing, but the true majority.”

“You mean you’ve been placing fear into the hearts of ordinary people. You’re not gaining warriors in some fight to oust the Qunari. You’re just throwing more people in to be slaughtered. Both sides will see bloodshed if this comes to a head. How can you be so thick as to think a bunch of scared, otherwise ordinary people could stand a chance against a bunch of trained warrior Qunari? Are you just _that_ stupid?”

Petrice clenched her hands into fists. “Were we to die untested, that would be the true crime. People need the opportunity to defend faith. Starting with you, a true heathen.”

The fanatics were armed, but wore no protection. One woman had come with a wooden shield and an axe meant for trees, wearing her skirts from an ordinary day’s work. It was possible she had little else _to_ wear, but still she had come with no real defense to speak of. The only one prepared for a fight was the templar, and Hawke had felled enough of them already to know their tactics. It was a fool’s errand and a fight she didn’t want to go through with.

But Petrice’s followers hurried up the steps, regardless. They drew their weapons, some looking as new as if they had bought it off the market that very day, others so old they would likely shatter on the first hit. Aveline hesitated along with Hawke, while Fenris was the only one to draw his weapon.

“They have given us no choice,” he said. “We must defend ourselves.”

It had been easier when they were standing in a rally around dead Qunari. Easier to justify. So Hawke looked down to the body of Seamus and found her rage for the innocent. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d ever killed. She doubted it would be anywhere near the last, either.

Aveline moved as Hawke did, drawing her sword and shield while Hawke readied her bow.

Hawke focused her fire on the steps near Fenris. Aveline had a better defense than he did, with better armor and a shield. He might have a massive sword, but he would need the extra help, especially as she noticed the single templar heading up his way.

She could see Aveline softening her blows, only going for the kill when clearly provided no other option. It was hardly the time to go soft, but Hawke understood. It didn’t feel fair to fight those whose hands were probably new to their weapons; whose bodies were unprepared for the sharp end of a sword to come at them.

Petrice couldn’t even see that she was just sending her own followers to die. Or she could, and found it didn’t matter enough to stop them. They should have run like some had done at Varnell’s rally. They shouldn’t have been at the chantry at all, that night.

Fenris grunted as the templar’s sword met his. Sparks flew at the next crash of their blades. But Fenris had support from Hawke, and a little more strength besides. He forced the templar back, sending him tripping over himself as he fell back down the steps and onto his rear. His helmet slid up as he toppled, and Hawke had just the space she needed for a clear, lethal shot.

Hawke stared around at the fallen, waiting to see one in chantry robes. Would Petrice herself not fight them? Perhaps she wasn’t as big of an idiot as Hawke suspected. She was smart enough to save her own skin.

“We need to find her,” Hawke said. Aveline and Fenris silently agreed. They moved down the steps, going to inspect any place Mother Petrice might have gone to hide in the few minutes it took them to fight her lackeys.

Yet, they didn’t have to look for long. Petrice reemerged willingly, with Elthina at her side looking bewildered.

“Do you see, Your Grace?” Mother Petrice said, putting on an accusing tone. “Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step!” She gestured to the steps, where bodies were laid in pools of their own blood.

“There is death in every corner, young mother. It is as you predicted. All too well,” the Grand Cleric said, glancing once around then back at Petrice.

“Wow,” Hawke said, “you think she bought that? Maybe you ought to try another lie. Or just point and say ‘Hawke did it.’ It worked for my sister when she was six.”

“Silence, Qunari filth! This is a hand of the Divine,” Petrice spat.

“I have ears, Mother Petrice. The Maker would have me use them,” Elthina said, rubbing her temples. “Serah Hawke, is it?”

“Viscount Dumar’s son is dead, killed here in your name,” Hawke said.

“I’m sure my name won’t like that. Petrice?” Elthina looked back to the Mother to get her side of things.

That she needed a moment to think was proof on its own of her lies. “Seamus Dumar was a Qunari convert!” Petrice said, voice tightening as she grew hesitant. “He came here to repent and was murdered!”

“He came here believing he would see his father. A letter was sent to the Qunari compound to lure Seamus here, where he was attacked. His body was already cold when I arrived, hours later,” Hawke said.

“A convenient lie from the mouths of the enemy!” Petrice shouted.

“That is enough, Mother Petrice,” Elthina said. “The Qunari are no more our enemy than any other non-believer.”

“But people are leaving us to join them,” Petrice said.

“And we must pray for them like any other,” Elthina said.

“They deny the Maker!”

“And you diminish Him,” Elthina said, finally turning to fully face Petrice, “even as you claim His side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame. Serah Hawke, you stand with the captain of the guard?”

Hawke nodded, while Aveline took a single step forward to make herself known fully. Judging by the look on Petrice’s face, she’d been too focused on Hawke to recognize Aveline’s uniform or red hair.

“The young mother has erred in her judgment,” Elthina said.

Hawke couldn’t hide a snort. She made it sound as if she’d lost at a hand of cards, not gotten a number of people killed over her years of scheming. Hawke was right to promise Petrice to the Arishok; Elthina would likely give just a slap on the wrist.

“A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she,” the Grand Cleric finished. Perhaps Hawke had underestimated her, but she’d still washed her hands of the ruling. She moved for the steps and started to return to her chambers.

“Grand Cleric?” Petrice sputtered. “Grand Cleric?!” She watched as her mentor left her.

Before Hawke could figure out exactly what to do with the disgraced Mother, a familiar sound resonated. Only Hawke knew instantly that it was the snap of a bowstring. The arrow hit Petrice in the chest only a moment after, so the mystery didn’t linger long for the others either way.

Petrice gaped down at the arrow protruding from her body. She gasped and choked in her panic, grabbing at her robes. She fell to her knees, still hyperventilating and trembling.

A Qunari soldier stepped out from the shadows. He’d remained hidden this entire time. He pointed another arrow at Mother Petrice, and loosed it. This shot went through her head, pushing clean through to the back. The force knocked her backwards, and her breath stopped short. Her blond hair was stained red as the wound wept blood, her blue eyes stuck open as she stared at the ceiling.

The Qunari turned to Hawke. “We protect those of the Qun. We do not abandon our own.”

He’d saved them a trip back to the Arishok, at least. Though this didn’t feel right. They were not trusted to bring her with them to the compound, were they? He was gone before Hawke could even think to ask.

Elthina was still on the steps as this happened, frozen after hearing the first arrow fly. She barely turned her head, not looking at Petrice’s body. There were plenty of reasons not to want to see the Mother lying on the ground.

“Please, send for Viscount Dumar,” the Grand Cleric said, just loud enough for Hawke to hear.

Aveline was quick to volunteer herself to make the run to the Viscount’s Keep, allowing Hawke and Fenris some time to breathe. She didn’t want to do that here, however. Not with the stench of blood rising in the air and the body of someone she’d begun to consider a friend so near. She didn’t know Seamus personally enough to weep or openly grieve, but she still hurt to see such needless loss.

Fenris went with her to sit outside, agreeing that the inside of the building no longer felt welcoming. They stayed on the steps, only going a few down to distance themselves from the situation. He sat on Hawke’s left, so he could check her arm more easily.

“Does it hurt?” Fenris asked.

“Not much, anymore. Thank you, by the way,” Hawke said.

He only nodded in response. The quiet surrounding them was deafening.

“Um, do you mind if I hum, a little? I need to...distract myself,” Hawke said.

Fenris perked up a little. “Please,” he said softly, “do.”

Hawke felt eyes on her as she had before, but this time it was knowing exactly who they belonged to that made her anxious. Still, she needed the comfort. She started with her eyes closed, just humming the tune that came to mind. Yet, as she went, she forgot about the world around her, and just let the words come.

_“She turns out the light anticipating night falling_   
_Tenderly around her_   
_And watches the dusk_   
_The words won't come_   
_She carries the act so convincingly the fact is_   
_Sometimes she believes it_   
_That she can be happy the way things are_   
_Be happy with the things she's done...”_

“Hawke.”

Her eyes flew open. It was Fenris, sitting next to her, watching her.

“Aveline is coming,” he said. Then Fenris rose, and offered her his hand. She took it and stood with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here’s the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUVRLiQhUrk) Hawke sang.


	35. To Trust a Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When there’s a lot of cutscenes to cover, there ends up being a lot of talking. So it’s a dialogue heavy chapter. And a short one, besides. To be fair, this was originally supposed to be a part of the last chapter before everything got too long?
> 
> ~~Also whoops posted the wrong chapter for a minute there hopefully no one saw that that is supposed to be for next week!~~

Viscount Dumar’s pain was all too familiar. The moment they had walked him inside and showed him the body, he fell to his knees and wept, clutching the body of his son in his arms. Hawke could barely look. She had been like him just days ago.

“My son,” he spoke, not looking up for even a moment. “Murdered in the heart of the chantry, by those who held a sacred trust. What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?”

“The Arishok is still here. We have to be ready to face him. Whatever he does after this mess,” Hawke said.

“It is as I said,” Aveline reminded the viscount, “the Qunari forces are already aware of what has transpired here. They gained revenge in Mother Petrice, but they will want more. They will want answers.”

“I cannot give what I do not have. This was senseless, pointless… I have already failed where it mattered most,” Dumar said. He removed his crown, leaving it on the floor beside him. “Please, all of you. Leave me.”

It was the least they could grant him. The viscount’s guard remained within the chantry to protect him and clear the other bodies. Someone would have to clean the blood from their floors. It wasn’t the first time people had died here. Hawke remembered that night with Karl well.

As Hawke started to leave, however, Aveline strode up beside her.

“I need to speak with you, Hawke,” she said. “I will come with you to your estate. This is urgent.”

“Can’t it wait at least a little? Just so I can get some rest?” Hawke said. But she already knew the answer.

Aveline followed her to her front door, which mysteriously needed no key to open, despite Bodahn’s habit of locking it after sundown. After Leandra’s death, he had decided to take extra precautions to keep himself, his son, and Orana all safe while Hawke was away. He was never a forgetful man, either, which meant only one thing.

“Dammit,” Hawke said under her breath, opening the door. “Isabela!”

“I know, I know, I’m _sorry._ I thought you’d be home by now so I’d just sneak up to your room and bother you but then you weren’t there. I need—” Isabela stopped, looking to Aveline. “Oh! Hey there, big girl. Don’t tell me you’re giving Hawke a go now? She is just so popular!”

“No,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes. “I have a matter of some urgency—”

“Well so do I!” Isabela said. “I’ll go first.”

“Excuse me? This is important. Don’t interrupt with your selfish prattle,” Aveline insisted.

“Get off your high horse. I have problems, too.”

“Like when your friend needed help peddling poisons? Or when one of your lovers was too drunk to actually free you from those restraints?”

“Oh, you little…” Isabela started to raise her hand.

“Stop it! Just...someone tell me what’s happening before I lose my head,” Hawke said. She had a headache, or was about to develop one.

Aveline stepped forward. “When I went to fetch the viscount a few of my guardsmen stopped me to say that the Arishok was sheltering two fugitives who have ‘converted’ to the Qun. He must be convinced to release them.”

“Not more Qunari business already,” Hawke groaned.

“I’m afraid so. As we’ve seen tonight, Petrice’s meddling has already struck fear into the hearts of many. If people start to think he can ignore the law… I need your help so this doesn’t get out of hand,” Aveline said.

“I’m going to die!” Isabela declared.

Both of the others stared at her.

“There,” she said, “got your attention. Real problem.”

“You don’t _look_ sick,” Hawke said.

“Because I’m not ill,” Isabela said. She moved closer. “Remember the relic? The one Castillon is going to kill me over? A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it. We can get it from him and Castillon won’t kill me. Please.”

“I’m trying to keep the entire city from rioting against the Qunari!” Aveline said.

“Well,” Isabela said, eyes trailing off, “maybe it’s...connected.”

Again, they could only stare.

“ _What?_ ” Aveline breathed.

“I’m just saying maybe it will help. It’s important to someone, right?” Isabela said.

“Now you start being responsible? Shit,” Aveline said, a hand on her head.

“Are you certain we should be trusting a guy named ‘Wall-Eyed Sam?’ What if this isn’t even your relic?” Hawke asked.

“We aren’t trusting him with anything, just those who dealt with him. I’ve had my ear to the ground for a while and heard a description of the book. It’s the right one,” Isabela said.

Hawke quirked a brow. “Book? I thought you didn’t know what the relic was.”

“Well, I… I know it’s a book. But that’s all I know. It’s written in a foreign tongue. Honestly, what does it matter? It’ll save me from Castillon, so I need it.”

Hawke sighed. “Aveline, this news just reached your guard, right? We can wait until morning to address it. Besides, with everything that just happened with Petrice and Seamus, the Arishok won’t be in a giving mood.”

“So you’re helping me, then?” Isabela said, smiling.

Aveline shook her head. “I can’t fully fault your logic, Hawke, but do you really trust her this much?”

“Probably not. I wouldn’t,” Isabela admitted, her grin only growing.

“They won’t wait at the compound forever, Hawke. I really do hope this helps, because if it doesn’t…”

“You think I like having this thing on my mind?” Isabela said. “Come on. The exchange is happening tonight in a Lowtown foundry. You coming, big girl?”

Hawke looked to Aveline, prepared to apologize. “I could use the help. Knowing the sort of people Isabela’s dealt with in the past, these guys will be ready and waiting for an attack.”

Aveline made a small noise of complaint, but went towards the door anyway.

✖✖✖✖✖

Lucky for Hawke, Fenris hadn’t even made it all the way back to his mansion before she came looking for his help again. She apologized profusely, and let Isabela do the rest of the talking. It was her life they were trying to spare, after all. Fenris relented without so much as a word, following Isabela along with the others as they headed for the Foundry.

It was a good thing they got his help, too, as a number of Qunari soldiers were waiting for them as they approached the particular section of Lowtown. Hawke’s hand twitched, uncertain if she ought to reach for her bow or the daggers she’d kept from earlier that day. Remembering the fight with the mercenaries only gave Hawke’s mind more of an excuse to be exhausted as she felt the weight of the day on her shoulders.

“Hold! You will surrender the relic!” one of the Qunari said.

“I don’t have your stupid relic,” Isabela said.

The Qunari prepared their weapons. They never could just chat, could they?

“The _bas_ has no honor. Kill it!”

Hawke pulled back in line before the Qunari could get to her. Aveline deflected the initial attack, taking on the apparent leader. Fenris rushed into the fray in a flurry, sweeping his blade in large arcing movements to keep the others back. Isabela reached for the bombs on her pouch, picking the appropriate one and throwing it at the Qunari.

Hawke’s arm was still injured from before, and she could feel it getting more sore again. She’d meant to go home, drink a bit of tea and swallow some bread before heading to Darktown to find Anders. She would hate interrupting the snuggly bliss of him and Tyr, but needed to be sure this didn’t get infected.

The shouting match between Aveline and Isabela had distracted from all of that. They should have taken care of the wound before leaving, but instead it remained a bother. Hawke took care with her aim to make each shot count. It was more painful to hold the string back for a long time with the injury, and the tension of it already made that difficult to do.

Her capable friends saved her most of the effort. How long she could manage like this was unclear, but surely it wouldn’t be for long. After Isabela’s relic was in hand, she was going to the clinic. The Arishok wasn’t a patient man, but surely he could wait just an hour or two more.

“Alright,” Hawke said once the Qunari were dealt with. “Let’s go get this thing.”

“Not so fast, Hawke,” Aveline said. “Why are the Qunari after the relic, Isabela? It seems like you’ve failed to mention a crucial detail or two.”

Isabela rose her shoulders, then rolled them back. She was fidgety, and avoided eye contact far more than normal. “Er...yes, about that. The relic belongs to the Qunari, and there’s a small chance they want it back.”

“A _small_ chance?” Hawke repeated. “Oh Isabela, what have you stepped in?”

“I’ve always known what the relic is,” Isabela admitted. “I just didn’t want to...worry you. The relic is a Qunari text handwritten by that philosopher of theirs—Kesland, Cousland… Whatever his name is.”

“Koslun?” Fenris offered.

Isabela pointed her finger at him. “That’s the one!”

Fenris dragged a hand down his face. “The founder of their religion, the most revered being in their history? That text would be sacred beyond measure.”

“So it would be like pissing into Andraste’s Ashes, is what you’re telling me?” Hawke said. She could feel the blood leave her face.

“I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly, but yes,” Fenris said. He sounded just as exhausted as Hawke felt.

“I stole it from them, they followed me here to reclaim it, and it’s why they’re still in Kirkwall,” Isabela said.

“And they can’t leave without it. All of this could have been avoided!” Aveline said, enraged.

“Maybe,” Hawke said. “Maybe we have a chance of stopping more trouble, yet. If we get it back and give it to them…”

“Then Castillon is still after me and kills me anyway!” Isabela said. “And don’t say you’ll protect me. I’ve seen your arm. You can barely keep yourself safe, let alone the people around you.”

Hawke’s face fell.

Isabela raised her hands quickly. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“You see? She’s just looking out for her own skin, same as always,” Aveline said. “Do some good for Kirkwall for once in your life. Let us have the relic, and maybe we can stop the Qunari from inciting a war. And maybe that means they’ll leave before the citizens of Kirkwall get so restless that they revolt.”

“There is no proving any of that will even _work!_ ” Isabela argued.

Hawke could barely think through all their shouting. What she could reason was that, selfish as the reasoning behind it was, Isabela wasn’t wrong. There was no proof that the Qunari would take the book and go. They might see it being withheld from them as reason enough to trash the city.

Or they’d demand to have Isabela herself to take home as a prize. As bad as she could be, Isabela was family to Hawke. They couldn’t let that happen.

Nothing here was ideal. Nothing here felt like the right choice.

“Look, I couldn’t have stopped this mess with the viscount’s son or whatever even if I wanted. The blighted book didn’t show up for three years, and believe me, I’ve been looking. The book is right there in that building, and I’m not letting it slip away again,” Isabela said.

“There’s more at stake,” Aveline said. She started to pace. “But...the Arishok waited this long. Ugh! I don’t know.”

“Fen, you know more about the Qunari than any of us,” Hawke said. “Would bringing it to them help?”

“In most cases I would say yes, however even I have witnessed the instability of their current Arishok. He may justify anything as the will of the Qun, regardless of whether we return Koslun’s book to him or not. They may say they follow one strict philosophy, but the Vashoth prove they still think as individuals,” Fenris reasoned. “There is no definite case either way. Castillon could very well turn on his own honor, as well.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I know him too well. He doesn’t turn back on deals. Too risky when bad luck could follow,” Isabela said.

“If you say so,” Fenris said with a shrug. “I leave the judgment call to you, Hawke.”

“I agree,” Aveline said.

“It’s the only thing that will get Castillon off my back,” Isabela said. Her eyes were truly desperate. “Please tell me you’ll give the relic to me.”

Hawke stared at the ground. This was no simple choice, but she already knew her answer. She just needed a moment to breathe.

“It’s yours,” Hawke said. “Your life depends on it.”

Isabela stared for a moment, completely silent. “Really? I… wasn’t expecting that.” She gave a relieved laugh. “It’s nice to have someone on my side, for once.”

“Don’t make us regret it,” Aveline said. She wasn’t happy with the decision, that much was clear, but she wasn’t fighting Hawke on it, either. Even she had been at a loss, moments ago. Now she was just ready to follow the chosen course.

“Come on,” Isabela said, waving them forward. “We’ve no time to waste.”

✖✖✖✖✖

What Isabela hadn’t mentioned, likely because Hawke hadn’t bothered to ask, was that the people after the book were Tevinter mages. It gave Fenris all the more reason to lunge forward and fight. The deal between Wall-Eyed Sam and the mages had also been interrupted, however, and more Qunari poured into the building. It was full to bursting of goons fighting each other, as well as fighting Hawke.

In all the chaos, Sam ran for it. Isabela broke off from Hawke before she could be stopped.

“He’s getting away!” she shouted, running after the man with the book held fast to his chest.

“Isabela!” Hawke called, but it was no use.

The sheer number of people, not to mention the various crossfire, made the battle hard to follow. Even in the midst of it Hawke barely knew where her friends were at any given moment. She just kept finding places to sneak off to and fire arrows until discovered, then used the daggers to fight her way back out.

Fenris and Aveline were split too far to protect her at all, so she was forced to fend for herself. Her injured arm didn’t help much, and she only had a small elfroot potion on her. She’d not planned ahead for massive fight after massive fight. She downed it to at least relieve a bit of the pain, and kept moving.

Despite the tension wound up in her, she managed to do pretty well. Enough that she only got a couple of bruises and scratches from the fight. Fenris and Aveline found her quickly as the last enemy was killed.

“She hasn’t come back?” Aveline asked.

Hawke knew she meant Isabela. “No.”

“Perhaps she’s outside?” Fenris suggested.

Aveline gave him the side-eye.

“I suppose you don’t think I make a very good optimist,” Fenris said.

Hawke managed a half smile. Fen put her heart at ease. Despite everything.

But they all knew what they would find outside. No Isabela, just the body of Wall-Eyed Sam and a letter. She was long gone, and finding her was not an easy task.

_Dear Hawke,_

_I have the relic, and I am gone. I’m sorry it has to be this way. You’ve been a loyal ally, but this is best for us both. You promised me the relic, and I know you’ll fight Castillon for me, but I don’t want this. I’ve dragged you too far into this mess already._

_You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope you understand._

_Isabela_

Hawke wordlessly handed the letter over to Aveline. She was too exhausted for anger, and skipped straight to disappointment. At least she could leave the fury to one trusted individual.

“She’s gone. She took it,” Aveline said, crumpling the paper. “That bitch-born _whore!_ ” She chucked the page to the depths of the Foundry. It was likely to land in some fire and burn. “Well, now we get to deal with the Arishok and the fugitives ourselves. That’s good.”

“Enough,” Hawke said. “Let’s go to the compound.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, stopping her. “Your arm.”

Right. That.

“He has a point,” Aveline said, taking a breath and cooling down. “We’re all exhausted, and injured. We’ll go after sunrise. For now, let’s go to see Anders. He may not like me much, but he’s the best healer Kirkwall’s got, and we need him. Hawke can make puppy eyes at him until he relents.”

“Since when have I ever…? Oh, fine. I’ll give him the quivering lip, too, if it helps,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just all heal up, get some food and rest, then put our heads together to figure out what we even say to the Arishok."


	36. The Collapse of Kirkwall

Patched up and rested, they were ready to set out from the clinic. Anders asked numerous times to be included, but Hawke wanted this kept to small numbers. Aveline was needed, and Fenris was good with the Arishok. They would manage without any others, for the time being.

Still, Anders sent her along with a number of fresh potions. Just in case. Tyr had a bit of time while she slept apparently, and had patched her armor. Hawke thanked him as she put it back on over her looser underclothes. She wasn’t down to her smalls, thank the Maker, but she also hadn’t wanted to sleep in thick leathers.

“Just be careful,” Anders said, for the hundredth time.

“We will be. You two should head up to Bodahn. Let him know I’m alright, and keep the place safe until I’m back. Take care of Hermes. Maybe let him meet Pounce?” Hawke said.

“So long as he doesn’t try to eat Ser Pounce-a-Lot,” Anders said. “We will let you know if Isabela comes by at any point, as well.”

Hawke nodded. “Thank you. Be careful.”

“You’re acting like you’re going off to war,” Tyr noted.

And honestly, Hawke felt like she was.

The walk to the Docks was not long from Darktown. Still, time seemed to stretch on as Hawke kept walking up narrow steps and through slim passageways. The stench of fish and seawater filled her senses the closer they grew. She could have personally done without that, but would be missing that smell soon enough.

A small gathering of guards stood against the wall, all saluting Aveline as they approached. It was unclear how long they’d been there, though Hawke didn’t think it could have been long. They stood straight and solid as ever, not lacking for energy. Perhaps that was also just their training showing. Guards didn’t relax or loaf off.

“You ready Hawke?” Aveline asked, taking the lead and turning her head only briefly to ask this.

“Yeah,” Hawke said. She could sense Fenris just behind her. That made it easier.

Aveline nodded, head turning back to face the Qunari guard at the gate. “I request an audience with the Arishok.”

“He will allow it,” the Qunari said, “but not in this number.”

“I will only bring my friend here and a small complement of my guard. Is that few enough?” Aveline asked.

Hawke glanced back to Fenris, but he betrayed no emotion. She couldn’t manage the same. For now, Aveline was taking charge, so her worry wouldn’t be a weakness to them. Frankly, they could use a bit of caution.

“It is an acceptable number,” the Qunari answered. “Enter.”

Aveline and the guards went ahead, but Hawke was hesitant.

“Are you going to leave, or—?”

“I’ll wait here,” Fenris answered. “Be careful in there, Hawke. Something isn’t right.” He was glancing up at the rooftops. When Hawke did the same, she saw nothing. His senses tended to be more alert than her own, but he couldn’t explain himself here. Not with the eyes of the Qunari so fixed on them.

“You do the same,” Hawke said. If things did go wrong, allies of hers wouldn’t exactly be kept safe.

Fenris nodded. He was plenty capable, even standing alone. Though she hated to leave him.

Aveline was looking back at her again, waiting for Hawke to join. She hustled up to meet the guards, standing just behind the captain herself.

Things continued to seem strange. Instead of being perched up on his makeshift throne, the Arishok stood before them at the bottom of the steps. He was armed and in his full gear, as if prepared for a fight. He often wore armor anyway, likely to be intimidating or simply prepared, but the weapon and some pieces of the set were new additions. This looked more practical than for show.

“ _Shanedan,_ ” he said.

Aveline kept her cool. “Greetings, Arishok. We come regarding the elven fugitives that took refuge here.”

“Irrelevant,” the Arishok said. He barely even saw Aveline, his eyes fixing on Hawke. “I would speak to Hawke about the relic stolen from my grasp.”

She had never felt so small. “I don’t know where it is,” Hawke said.

It was true. Wherever it and Isabela were now, they were likely far from Kirkwall. As far as one could get overnight. The Arishok didn’t need to know that Hawke had promised the book to Isabela in the first place.

“I am aware of the situation. The thief was in your midst, and she was allowed to escape,” the Arishok said.

“Are you telling me to get it back?” Hawke asked.

“It is much too late for that.”

“An issue for another time,” Aveline said, eyeing Hawke. “We’re here for the fugitives.”

“The elves are now _viddathari._ They have chosen to submit to the Qun. They will be protected,” the Arishok said. There was no room for disagreement.

“Are you certain they are loyal to you? We fear they have chosen to convert out of convenience, for the shield you provide,” Aveline challenged.

“They have chosen, and so have I,” he said. He again showed preferential treatment of Hawke, respecting her authority over Aveline’s. “You have not hidden the abuses of your zealots, or the corruption of this city. You will understand why I must do this. Let us look at your ‘dangerous’ criminals.”

The Arishok gestured with his chin, and two similarly decorated Qunari soldiers brought forward two elves. They looked like relatives, a fact emphasized by their style of dress. They wore a common outfit for converts of the Qun, with a head cloth and shortened pants and sleeves. It would suit the harsher weather of the north, where Par Vollen was located.

“Speak, _viddathari._ Who did you murder and why?” the Arishok commanded.

“A city guard forced himself on our sister,” the taller of the two spoke. “We reported him…or tried to. But they did nothing about it, no matter what we said. So my brothers and I paid him a visit.”

“That doesn’t excuse murder!” Aveline said.

Hawke didn’t agree. She had certainly killed for less, and Aveline had been beside her for many of those cases. Neither of their hands were clean, and yet here they were trying to persecute elves who had only meant to protect their family.

“Is this true, Aveline?” Hawke asked.

“There have been rumors,” Aveline said. “I will investigate, but they still took the law into their own hands.”

“Sometimes that is necessary,” the Arishok said.

“It’s not like I’ve done much different,” Hawke muttered. She was reluctant to agree with the Arishok, not wishing to add fuel to his angry flame, but Aveline had nothing to stand on, here.

“Like you avenged the viscount’s son? It was not right then, and it’s not right now,” Aveline said.

“I’d rather not argue ethics at the moment,” Hawke said. “Arishok, if others see you as an escape, criminals across the city may flock to your side for protection. That isn’t who you want in your company, is it?”

“These are mere symptoms, those you describe. Your society is the disease,” the Arishok said, eyes narrowing. “They have chosen. The _viddathari_ will submit to the Qun and find a path your way has denied them.”

“You can’t just decide that. You must hand them over,” Aveline demanded.

The Arishok stared down at her, his towering figure not even bringing a flinch to Aveline’s body. He waited, but when the intimidation didn’t work, he turned his back to her. He paced back, almost back to his throne, then paused, and returned to where he had been standing before.

“Tell me, Hawke,” he said, “what would you do, in my place?”

“Why not leave this city, if it’s so awful? The relic is—”

“I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remain blind to this dysfunction,” the Arishok said.

Hawke was only trying to suggest he chase Isabela. She didn’t actually want her friend caught, uncertain whether they’d torture her, kill her, or attempt to re-educate her. Unpleasant, was the simplest understatement Hawke had in mind. But she wasn’t being allowed to speak any longer.

“There is only one solution.”

Aveline finally broke. Her confident mask fell as she pleaded, “Arishok, there is no need for—”

The Arishok simply held up a hand, and she was forced to silence. The sheer power he demonstrated was beyond anything Aveline could ever command. Hawke had never known someone with that kind of force over people.

He turned, walking back as he had done before, but with no moment’s hesitation. He had given Hawke a chance, it seemed, to spare people. To provide some other answer that he had not seen. She’d failed his test.

“ _Vinek kathas,_ ” the Arishok said.

Hawke remembered Fenris glancing at the rooftops, and stared up. Qunari soldiers revealed themselves in great number, spears in hand. They gave only a moment’s warning as they aimed down at the guardsmen, Aveline, and Hawke herself.

Her eyes went wide, grabbing Aveline’s arm and yanking her back. One guard was speared through the shoulder, pinned to the ground. Blood splattered the ground as two other guards were struck, direct in the center of their chests.

More Qunari came at them, this time from the ground. It was a full ambush. Aveline blocked an oncoming spear, knocking it aside with her blade, then kicked back against a Qunari who tried to rush her. The remaining two guards fought the best they could, slashing at the bared skin of the shirtless Qunari warriors. Aveline cut into the side of one, hacking through enough that Hawke could nearly see his insides.

She felt ill. Part of that was the encroaching panic. Her hand wandered towards the daggers still on her belt…

“Not here!” Aveline declared, holding out an arm and stopping Hawke from her counterattack. “Too open! Go. _Go!_ ”

It took until the second utterance before Hawke’s feet got the message. They started away, heading back to the gate and fighting any other Qunari that stood in their way. Another guard was taken town by the spearmen on the rooftops, but Hawke couldn’t stop to watch her fall. Not that she would have wanted to, given the choice.

Hawke could feel the Arishok’s eyes still on her as she ducked around and reached the outside of the gate. The sight that followed was something straight from a nightmare.

Every beggar, worker, or wandering soul that had been at the docks lay on the ground. It was a massacre. Hawke couldn’t remove the image of the bodies from her mind; unblinking, with thick red pools spreading from where they had fallen.

She searched, panicked, fearful to see white hair and dark skin lined with tattoos among the dead. At the sound of clashing metal, she moved. Hawke followed the noise like she was being beckoned by it. Air escaped her lungs when she saw him.

Fenris was wounded, but not fatally, and was still able to fight. He was protecting a woman and her child, who cowered behind him, unable to get past the Qunari. The woman’s eyes kept darting to the hatch to the Undercity, which was the most likely route of escape.

Hawke drew her bow and fired. One. Two. Three. The Qunari fell.

Fenris lowered his blade, then immediately bristled again. He looked like a cat with its fur standing on end. Only a moment was spared for him and Hawke to stare at one another, before he was directing the woman to the Undercity. Once she was safely below, he gestured for Hawke and Aveline to follow.

“More will come,” he said simply. And they knew he was right.

Hawke slid down the ladder, waiting for Fen to come down and join them. The hatch closed, and a man went to hand up a bar to Fenris. He was directed on how to lock it, then made sure it was shut. Unless there was a Qunari with the strength of a demon, no one was getting through that thing.

Hawke moved back to a wall, her eyes blown wide and her shoulders trembling. She had been in horrific situations before. She’d been surrounded by monsters and darkspawn. She’d killed. She’d watched others die. People she loved. Her mother hadn’t even been gone a week.

And this? This shook her to the core.

“I am...pleased that you are safe,” Fenris said. His voice took her out of the initial shock, somewhat, just for hearing it.

“Me too,” Hawke said. “A-about you, I mean.” Enough time and the second wave of shock was starting to hit.

“We’re going to need help if we’re going to try to take them on,” Aveline said. “You’ve seen how many Qunari still remain in the city. The three of us alone are no match for an army like that. And Fenris has already been wounded.”

It was minor, but yes, there were signs that Fenris’ arm had been injured, as well as the side of his stomach. They would need a healer. But Anders was supposed to be up in Hightown, taking refuge in Hawke’s estate.

“We can get some supplies from the clinic, at least,” Hawke suggested. “I know a path there from here; it’s very close.”

“It’s a start. After that, we’ll want to head for the Viscount’s Keep. I need to see what remains of my guard. Besides, if they’re really going for an invasion of Kirkwall, that’s where they will want to be. It’s the seat of power,” Aveline said.

They had a plan. Hawke lead them down some winding paths in the Undercity, that took them to Darktown. It was an odd and convoluted way to go, but Hawke had learned these streets back when she worked with Athenril. Every bit of this city was her domain.

They saw no Qunari down among the poorest of their society. Either they hadn’t made it down here yet, or they made no plan to. These were the weak and vulnerable, the ones who would be most easily converted to a new ruling class. It made no real difference to them. They would be given roles, the same as always, and do what was needed to survive.

It was a relief the Qunari were not here, but Hawke felt only pity for what these people still stood to lose. They would have no choice in the matter, regardless of who won the day.

They reached the clinic, but heard noise inside. Hawke drew her bow and a single arrow, preparing to fire as she kicked the door open. Anders and Tyr startled.

“Hawke?”

“Anders? Weren’t you going to the estate?” Hawke asked, but Anders was too busy rushing forward to hug her to answer just yet. She put her arrow away so she didn’t accidentally poke him with the end of it.

“We saw fire starting outside and told Bodahn and the others to stay inside. Then we saw the Qunari starting to slaughter everyone caught outside…” Anders stopped, swallowing. “I wanted to go out and fight, but Tyr stopped me.”

“There were too many,” Tyr said. “We would have been overrun and killed. We got a few people inside, then barricaded and warded your main door and foyer. We came back here to make sure the clinic was safe, then to gather supplies for the wounded we ushered inside.”

It was the most Hawke had ever heard him talk.

“That was likely a good decision. We barely got away ourselves. I’m sorry to ask this, but we will need your help, Anders. We can’t fight without a healer by our side,” Hawke said.

“If he goes, I go,” Tyr insisted. He had a hand on Anders’ shoulder, gentle but firm. He wasn’t a hired bodyguard anymore, but he was still protecting him.

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you that,” Hawke agreed. Then it struck her. “The others… They don’t have anyone. We’ll have to go through Lowtown!”

“But the quickest way is through your cellar,” Aveline argued.

“But our _friends_ are in Lowtown. Merrill in the Alienage and Varric at the Hanged Man. I will not leave them. We go to Lowtown, _now._ ”

Aveline grimaced, but nodded anyway. Hawke was leading this charge. Time alone would tell if she was making the right decisions. If she was being frank, she didn’t much care about that. She only wanted to be certain she looked out for those she cared about.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Daisy, on your left!” Varric called. “ _Other_ left!”

Merrill had to whip her head around twice before she saw the Saarebas charging up a blast of frost. She summoned up a wall of vines in order to protect herself, then used that same wall to ensnare him. Donnic came up behind the Saarebas and stabbed through him where the vines were thin.

“I’ve got it, Varric,” Donnic reassured him.

“I’ll be convinced when you don’t prove to be fodder like the rest of the guards I’ve seen,” Varric said.

“Those were my colleagues,” Donnic said, “and some were good friends.”

“And I am deeply sorry for your loss!” Varric said, clearly frustrated as he loaded up a heftier bolt and wound some dials on the side of Bianca. “But right now, I’m a little more concerned about making sure our own sorry hides make it out of this mess!”

Merrill ignored the two as they sniped at one another, and continued on with her attack. It was difficult, given how loud and distracting they were, but those broad Qunari chests did make for good easy targets. They clearly didn’t like getting blasted by spirit magic, either.

The bigger problem was, they just kept coming. By sheer number alone they could overwhelm the three. They needed backup, and soon.

Merrill kept checking around for any sign of Isabela, desperate to know that she was safe. So many others were already dead. Her heart ached with every second that passed, not knowing if her lover was dead. It was an inopportune moment for the truth of her feelings to become apparent. And she'd sworn she wouldn't fall in love.

It was a good thing Varric had her back, distracted as Merrill was. Any opening she left was swiftly taken care of by well placed crossbow bolts. Donnic helped out with the rest.

They had fought all the way through to the marketplace when Merrill heard someone calling her name. The voice was far away, and hard to discern, but noticeably feminine. It was too much to hope for the pirate to come swinging in, grinning and brandishing a dagger.

Instead, the voice grew clearer as it also called for Varric. The accent was Ferelden, not Rivaini. And the person was firing arrows into the battle scene.

“Hawke!” Merrill called back. It wasn't who she'd been hoping for, but there was still relief in her heart to see her friend approaching, mostly unharmed.

Fenris, Aveline, Anders, and that big burly one whose name she didn't quite remember were all with Hawke, as well. Still no Isabela. At this point, Merrill just wanted some sign that she was safe.

The group, now much stronger in number, was able to defeat the last remainders of the Qunari forces in Lowtown. They took a few moments to breathe when the fighting was done. Still, there was much more fighting ahead, and everyone knew it.

Merrill watched as Hawke took Varric aside to learn what had gone down here. Merrill knew most of the Alienage was safe, their quarters barred off before any Qunari could get inside. The ones on the rooftops were focused on the humans, it seemed, and mostly attempting to head towards Hightown. They didn't care much about killing, other than taking out any guards or other people who stood in clear positions of power or influence. Or anyone who might fight back and end up a threat.

It was a massacre, but not a mindless one. Rather, it was more like a culling.

Aveline rushed to Donnic and held him, their armor clanking together when they collided. They didn't seem to notice, or at the very least they didn't care. Merrill remembered a bit late to turn her eyes away, catching the beginning of a kiss before she could think herself rude for staring.

“Do you know what's happened? It was all so sudden, and none of the Qunari were feeling chatty. They just kept shouting in that odd language of theirs,” Merrill said, going over to Fenris.

He didn't like her much. He made that clear with every interaction they had. Still, Fenris held off on the anti-blood-magic lecture. There was a time and a place for that.

“The Arishok knows that Isabela was the one who stole the Qunari relic, a book by Koslun. She ran off with it last night, and without it, the Qunari could not return home. Her taking it and running for a second time was apparently the straw that broke the horse’s back,” Fenris said. “He attempted to kill Aveline and Hawke when they had simply gone in to make a request of him.”

Merrill felt color drain from her cheeks. She knew Isabela involved herself in some unsavory things, but to steal from the Qunari and essentially start a war? It seemed beyond even her capabilities. Surely, Isabela was unaware of the chaos her actions had caused. She was not so heartless as to abandon them all now.

...was she?

“You haven't...seen her since last night, then?” Merrill asked.

“No,” Fenris said. He shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at her face. “I am...sorry.”

Merrill quirked her head. That was odd. Fenris was never kind. Not to her. To Hawke, certainly, but he was so clearly in love with those puppy eyes of his.

“You are?” Merrill said.

“You and Isabela are close. I am not heartless. I might think you're naive, foolish, and dangerous, but she was fond of you, too,” Fenris said. It was probably the kindest thing she'd get out of him.

“I knew you weren't heartless,” she said.

That only seemed to piss him off, however. He grumbled and grunted and stalked over to Hawke and Varric.

Merrill was back to looking mournful over Isabela. She had just abandoned them all? Truly?

Before long, Hawke was declaring the plan to get to the Viscount’s Keep. They would stop this thing at the heart, where the leader of Kirkwall would be. Hopefully, the guards there would be enough to protect him.

There was no time to contemplate feelings or go through complex and conflicting emotions. Merrill, along with all the others, just had to keep moving. She stayed in step with Fenris, who hustled up to meet Hawke.

“I'm worried about Seb,” Hawke admitted to Fenris. “Do you think they would attack the Chantry, as well?”

“It is possible that they would, but it would not be their focus,” Fenris said. “You needn't worry about Sebastian, however. He is a capable archer and would not let his guard down. I'm certain he is fighting, the same as we are trying to do.”

“Wasn't it a chantry Mother who said a lot of nasty things about the Qunari?” Merrill said. She had not had personal run-ins with Petrice, but she heard all the stories from Varric. She sounded like a real piece of work, that one.

Hawke made a noise that died in her throat, and Fenris glared down at Merrill.

“Yes,” he said, without patience, “but they already achieved vengeance for her transgressions. This time is about a complete take over, not a vendetta. They will focus on the viscount.”

“Not that that's any better,” Hawke said, staring up the stairs ahead.

“Sebastian is safe,” Fenris promised. “You will see.”

“He is very good with a bow,” Merrill chimed in. “Almost as good as you, Hawke.”

She actually got a laugh for that one.

“I don't think I'm better than him,” Hawke said, chuckling, “though I will take the compliment.”

✖✖✖✖✖

The blaze in Hightown was twice as bright, and the blood on the streets seemed twice as red. Hawke couldn't look at the faces of the dead. She had been avoiding doing so since they left the Docks. She didn't want to recognize anyone, and that was a possibility in so many parts of Kirkwall.

It took an emotional toll on her regardless. This was not purpose. This was not reason that the Arishok so loved to preach. This was butchery and slaughter, mindless as if the people here were cattle. No, even butchers took care into the way they killed. They were treating people like someone would treat rodents or bugs.

Between that and the physical exertion, Hawke was exhausted. She was running short on arrows as well, and had to skirt behind a marketplace stall she knew carried weapons. There weren't many, but there were some finely fletched arrows to replenish her supply.

No such luck for Varric, unfortunately. Not many people in the Free Marches seemed partial to the crossbow, and Bianca wasn't an ordinary crossbow, either. Spare bolts for Varric were hard to come by. He was forced to make his shots count.

Hawke wouldn't have called it luck in any other circumstance, particularly after that day, but she was glad when someone appeared to lend aid. She recognized the armor as belonging to a templar; a high-ranking one, at that. It wasn't until the templar removed her helmet and revealed a head of blonde curls that Hawke had an idea of who she might be.

“Knight Commander,” Aveline said, a little breathless as she stepped forward. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”

“So you're Knight Commander Meredith?” Hawke said, half-mumbling to herself.

Meredith responded anyway, “Indeed I am. I believe I know who you are, as well. Serah Hawke, daughter of Leandra Amell.”

She didn't say it, but Hawke knew from the sneer that Meredith was fully aware of her parentage. Including her apostate father.

“That would be me, yes,” Hawke said. The air was tense. There was too much at stake for the moment not to play nice, but Sarah had heard the stories. She had seen the templars of Kirkwall and the free reign many were given to do as they so pleased. She knew they were not trained to be gentle or kind.

“The name Hawke has turned up in my reports many times. _Too_ many. Regardless, you are a good shot,” Meredith said, more a clinical observation than a compliment. “We could use the help of you and your cohorts in this dark hour. The Viscount has reportedly been taken by the Arishok, who staked a claim—without any right to—on the Keep. Along with him were other Kirkwall citizens, mostly those of noble lineage. We should make haste. We would be lucky to settle this before the whole of Kirkwall is burned.”

Hawke had already been working on doing so. Getting orders from this woman rubbed her entirely the wrong way. Still, it wasn't as if she disagreed with the idea itself. Just the source of it.

Besides, she could feel Anders and Merrill stiffening up behind her. Tyr would stand protectively in front of Anders, certainly. Merrill had no one similar to stand for her, but Varric held Bianca a little higher, more prepared to aim.

Meredith's eyes scanned the collected group, pausing over some. They were ragtag. Hawke sometimes forgot this fact. The two elves in her company alone came from such unique and different backgrounds that it should have been odd to see them fighting side by side. Whether this was what made the Knight Commander’s gaze linger or something else, Hawke didn't like her looking for so long. Her scrutiny was palpable.

“We should hurry, then,” Hawke insisted.

“Yes, head to the Keep, and I will see if I can find more of my men. These creatures will pay for this outrage,” Meredith said, already starting to turn and leave. She halted after a moment, and looked back behind Hawke. “It appears some of you may need to collect yourselves. One of you must be capable of healing.”

Hawke didn't know if that was a subtle hint that the mages had been noticed or just her version of a kindness, and didn't care to ask and find out. If the leader of the templars did notice the staves Anders and Merrill wielded and still passed them by, it was a blessing. You don’t question a blessing.

They moved on while Meredith went to double back and find more templars. Their magic cancelling abilities would be useful against the Saarebas, certainly. That was one thing about their involvement Hawke wouldn’t complain about when this was done. For now, she was just looking for more people to take up arms.

Anders healed those who needed it, though from the sweat on his brow, he couldn’t go much longer on his own. He leaned more on his staff to walk, while Tyr hovered at his side. If only Merrill knew some healing techniques, along with the spirit and nature magic she usually called up.

Some potions would have to ease a few of their aches as they moved forward. It wasn’t like they could afford to stop and rest.

Hawke’s mind fixed again on Sebastian and the Chantry. They passed her estate and saw that the front door was shut and unharmed, save a few scratches over the wood. No one had gotten in. If they had, the door would be like some of the others—torn right off their hinges. Perhaps the Chantry had been similarly left alone. If the Arishok didn’t consider religious leaders a threat to his control, there was a chance. A very slight one.

There was more commotion nearby. A fight was already in progress, with Circle mages attempting to protect a few citizens who hadn’t yet been either captured or able to escape. One of the Qunari came close, reaching for one of the elven mages. His robes were slightly finer; not to Tevinter quality, but with a little more ornamentation. He attempted to retaliate, but found his mana was so far depleted the attack was weakened.

“First Enchanter!”

The voice calling out was familiar. So was her dark hair.

Bethany launched a fireball more powerful than Hawke had ever seen her sister manage before. She defended the older elf—apparently First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle—and fought back his attacker. But a second Qunari soldier came up to address the new threat.

Before Hawke could jump to her rescue, someone else’s arrows were flying through the air, piercing the soldier in the throat. There was a slight gurgling noise before he collapsed. Hawke followed the shots in reverse with her eyes to find the archer.

“Seb!” she called. She thought she might cry.

But they had more Qunari to dispatch, first. More of them lunged at the First Enchanter, clearly recognizing his position of power. If those in power submitted, the Qun would have an easy win. Those who didn’t give in would likely just be killed, especially the mages. Hawke would never allow them to chain her sister.

With the reinforcements Hawke brought along, the few Circle mages outside the Viscount’s Keep were spared. It appeared that those were the last of the soldiers in that area of the city, giving them a moment of respite. This was the eye of the storm.

“Thank you for your help,” Bethany was saying to Sebastian as Hawke approached. “Most of us aren’t taught to use our abilities for serious combat.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sebastian said. He was turning on the charm, whether on purpose or by reflex. “Though you saying that makes me wonder where a lady like yourself might have learned such things.”

Bethany was opening her mouth again when she finally noticed Hawke standing there. She gasped, then ran forward to embrace her.

“Sister,” Bethany said, “I was so worried. I wasn’t sure where you were, or if the estate was protected…”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to see that you’re okay,” Hawke said, pulling back to get a look at her baby sister.

She’d lost a bit of the fat in her cheeks that always made her look younger. She also looked a bit older because of the new way she’d chosen to style her hair, leaving it a bit shorter and no longer maintaining bangs. There was also something harder to define. It was a change to Bethany’s eyes that made them look harder, more intense. Perhaps that was just how she looked under such stress.

“Okay is hardly the word I would choose,” Bethany said. “What’s happened to make the Qunari attack like this?”

“Too much time spent in Kirkwall,” Hawke said, “and Isabela ran off with their relic.”

“What?!” Bethany said.

Hawke quickly caught her up to speed on the past couple of days.

“All that in such little time…”

“I know,” Hawke said. She could hardly believe it herself, and she was living it. “Why are all of you out here? I thought if anything at least the Circle is a defensible fortress. I thought you would at least be safe there, in times like these.”

“I can answer for that,” the First Enchanter said, stepping forward. “I’d also like to thank you, child, for coming to my aid. Even though I told you to let them take me and run.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Bethany said.

“She really couldn’t have. She once nursed a baby bird back to health,” Hawke said.

Bethany flushed and shot Hawke a look. Why this embarrassed her so much was a mystery, but Hawke let it go.

The First Enchanter merely smiled, though it was melancholy given the circumstances. “I should introduce myself. I am First Enchanter Orsino of the Kirkwall Circle. These students are my responsibility. I asked them to volunteer when the news reached the Gallows that an attack was underway. Knight Commander Meredith wished for healers to aid in the battle. Bethany has grown quite a lot in her healing abilities, and is an invaluable asset at a time like this.”

Hawke wished she wasn’t upset with him for bringing Bethany here. She would have done the same, in his position. She practically had with Anders, still suffering from mana deprivation. One of the mages from the Circle kindly offered him a lyrium potion, instructing him to take slow sips to allow his energy to be replenished. No one would say to her that the instruction was unnecessary.

Still, protective familial urges trumped reason in times like these, and she felt a rush of anger in her gut. She buried it down. Now wasn’t the time for Hawke to argue with Orsino.

The healers were able to fully patch up the group with all the various wounds they’d been enduring. Burns and slight frostbite, cuts and scrapes, fractures and breaks… One of the mages remarked that it was a miracle none of them were suffering from something more serious. Hawke was certain that wasn’t their individual fighting skills alone, but the fact that they did have magic users to look after them.

“First Enchanter Orsino,” Meredith said, her harsh voice cutting the moment of peace. Behind her were the templar reinforcements she sought. “You survive.”

“Your relief overwhelms me, Knight Commander,” Orsino said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“It did sound like she expected, if not wanted, the opposite,” Hawke said in an aside to Bethany. Her sister merely nodded.

Meredith narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t likely she heard Hawke’s words, but whispering to someone always looked suspicious. And the Knight Commander didn’t strike Hawke as the non-paranoid type.

“There is no time for talk,” she said. “We must strike back, before it is too late.”

“And who will lead us into this battle? You?” Orsino said.

“I see no finer candidate. I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done,” Meredith snapped.

“To control it, you mean!” Orsino said. The pretend civility was gone now. “I won’t have our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!”

It was clear the two would bicker until Qunari reinforcements arrived to slaughter them all, if allowed to continue. Someone had to step in, but Hawke hardly wanted to pick either one of them to lead the charge. Orsino said himself that the mages he brought were mostly healers, and few Circle mages had ever been in a true combat situation. Meredith, on the other hand, was in no way a positive option.

“I’ll do it!” Hawke said, raising her hands and stepping between them. “We can’t have you two at each other’s throats while the city is in peril. I’m in charge, starting now.”

“You? You’re not even of this city!” Meredith said.

“Neither am I, yet I don’t hear you complaining about us both fighting to defend our home,” Orsino said, backing up Hawke.

Meredith scowled, but conceded quickly. Even she could understand the urgency, and knew when she was outnumbered. “Very well, then. But whatever you plan, be quick about it.” She instructed her men to be ready in case any Qunari descended the stairs to launch another attack. They were defended, for the time being.

But Hawke did have to hurry. She turned to the others. “Any ideas?”

“We should see how many of them there are,” Aveline suggested. “Know what sorts of defenses to mount.”

“So we send ahead scouts who are capable of sneaking. That would be—”

“You and me,” Varric said with a grin, standing beside Hawke.

“I can go as well,” Sebastian said. Despite his shining white armor, he was quite good on his feet, and light as well.

“I can help,” Bethany said. “Not with the spying, but I was studying a spell of silent steps. Mostly to teach Julia how to walk around at night without waking the entire floor. But I knew it would come in handy, elsewhere.”

“That’s brilliant, Bethy,” Hawke said. She couldn’t help but smile, staring at her sister’s face. She needed to commit it to memory. It wasn’t until seeing her again in person that Hawke knew she’d forgotten so much of how she looked.

“That’s because I’m brilliant, sister,” Bethany said with a smirk. “You’ll want to hurry. Fredrick, do you think you can also cast something for swift movement?”

One of the other mages stepped forward. He was younger and freckled, his voice cracking as he said, “Yes, I can.”

Had bringing one so young been Orsino’s idea, or Meredith’s? Hawke wasn’t certain she wanted the answer. No one should be sending kids to war, not even as healers.

Bethany and Fredrick cast their spells, and the three rogues were off. The rest watched, awaiting word on their numbers. There were ten Qunari guarding the outside door; most mere foot soldiers. Two wore helms, designating them as leaders of the groups. Probably groups of five each, split even. One of the ones with the helmet on appeared to be giving more directions, however. They had become the leader of all of them, with the other falling just below in rank, somehow.

Hawke and the others fell back to report this. “It’s a small enough number that the lot of us could handle it, but not without expending a lot of energy. There are sure to be more inside.”

“Then what do you propose?” Orsino asked.

“A distraction. Someone to go in and draw the Qunari to the templar soldiers and any of your mages capable of fighting. My group will slide past while they are kept busy,” Hawke said.

“In such a great number? You will surely be noticed,” Meredith said.

It was a fair point, even though Hawke hated the way it was said. “You’re right. Then I will leave most of my group here as backup, bringing only three inside with me. Fenris, Anders, and Varric—I would trust each of you with my life.”

There were mixed reactions among her friends. Fenris and Anders both looked guilty, as if they were undeserving. Varric grit his teeth in preparation, probably trying to remind himself that this would make a great story if it ended well. Aveline and Tyr looked disappointed at being left behind, surely for differing reasons. The rest simply tried to remain strong to do as Hawke asked of them.

“Serah Hawke,” Orsino said, “allow me to create the initial distraction. I can draw all of them away on my own and lead them into an ambush. They won’t know what hit them.”

Hawke nodded. “Do all that you can. Once they’re taken care of, get inside and find us. We may require more help.”

Everyone agreed to that plan. The templars only slightly changed their positions, some moving up a few stairs to catch the first wave. The mages were behind both lines of templars, protected and able to attack and heal from afar. No one would use any magic cancelling abilities, as there were no Saarebas among these Qunari. Meredith stood with the front line, and Hawke’s friends joined where they felt it appropriate.

Orsino, Hawke, and the three she’d chosen to join her ran up to the top. While the others fell into the shadows to conceal themselves, Orsino stepped forward, brazen and bold. He shouted at the guards to gain their attention, which took no time at all.

Then, in one of the strongest feats of magic Hawke had ever witnessed, he summoned up a storm of fire attacks. It started as one massive burning ball, then split out and rained down on the heads of the Qunari. They flailed as their skin burned and they tried to protect themselves from the heat.

A few rushed forward, but Orsino prepared another attack. This one of ice. Where skin had been burned it now froze, which hurt even more. It was like ice and salt on their skin the way it stung. The rest of the guards ran up to join in the attack when they saw that the first group was becoming quickly incapacitated.

“Now’s our chance!” Hawke whispered. She waved a hand for the others to know to follow, even if they hadn’t heard her.

Orsino’s onslaught continued while Hawke and company slipped into the Keep, the door shutting firm behind them.


	37. The Champion of Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! My dad helps out with the musical his district's high schoolers put on every year so I went out to see it on Saturday and then just spaced. But it's here now for your enjoyment!
> 
> Longer housekeeping update at the end.

Hawke, Fenris, Anders, and Varric stood at the door to the chamber where court hearings were held. None of them had ever been in it personally (thank the Maker), but Aveline had pointed it out enough times that they knew that was what awaited them. As for the rest of what they’d find beyond the double doors, no one could say for certain.

The only promising piece of information they had was that there were numerous voices within, not only Qunari but human as well. There might have been a few converts, but Hawke suspected most of the human voices were noblemen begging for their lives. Which meant they weren’t dead, yet.

Hawke took the deepest breath she could manage, filling her lungs. She released it as she leaned her weight against the doors and let them swing open before her.

Inside were a number of Qunari, towering over a number of humans forced to kneel. A couple of familiar elves hovered far in the background, eyeing Hawke as she entered. One smirked as she made her way in. A head rolled and landed in front of her. She had to fight the urge to recoil.

“This is your viscount,” the Arishok declared. He gestured down to the head, a crown still affixed around the viscount’s brow. It didn’t look like the Arishok had noticed Hawke yet, his focus on the kneeling and cowering nobles.

One decided to be brave and stand. The man didn’t last long, shouting a protest before one of the Qunari surrounding them snapped his neck. It was clean and quick, and without mercy.

The Arishok only narrowed his eyes at the disturbance. “Look at you,” he said. “Like fat _dathrasi_ you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted. You do not look up. You do not see that the grass is bare. All you leave in your wake is misery. You are blind. I will make you see.”

He looked up, not missing a beat. He had noticed Hawke, after all, and only chose to draw attention to her in this moment. “But we have guests,” he said. Casual as if they had come to share a spot of tea over brunch. “ _Shanedan,_ Hawke. I expected you.”

The Arishok came down the steps, leaning a large axe much like Tyr wielded over his shoulders. Hawke remained where she was, refusing to look at or even touch the viscount’s decapitated head. To move forward, she’d probably have to do one or the other, if not both.

“ _Maraas toh ebra-shok,_ ” the Arishok said, standing only a few feet away now. “You alone are _basalit-an._ ”

Hawke was confused. She looked to Fenris, who quietly explained that it was a term of honor for those who had proven themselves to the Qun. It was specifically for outsiders, and something rarely heard of. Essentially, she was worthy of respect enough for words, instead of jumping straight into battle.

“This is what respect looks like, _bas!_ ” the Arishok barked to the people surrounding him. “Some of you will never earn it!”

Hawke glanced around her. The people kneeling merely whimpered, too afraid now of the death that could await them if they said a word as the other man had done. All they could do was look back at her, silent pleas in their watering eyes.

“So tell me, Hawke: you know I cannot withdraw. How would you resolve this conflict?” the Arishok asked.

Sarah Hawke was as clueless as she had been the last time she was asked such a thing. He would not leave, and she wasn’t certain the forces of Kirkwall were enough for the Qunari army. With no book for them to go with and no force strong enough to make them, they were at something of an impasse. They could fight, but to what end?

As it turned out, she didn’t have to give an answer, that time. Moments later, while Hawke searched her brain for a solution, the door was bust open again, the body of a Qunari warrior falling through. The edges of the doors splintered a little at the impact. Then a boot landed on top of the Qunari, stepping over him.

Isabela had returned, a book under her arm. “I believe I can answer that,” she said.

Hawke couldn’t believe her eyes as Isabela strode forward, holding out the Tome of Koslun that was so sought after. She’d really returned, and she was handing over the key to her freedom. Willingly, at that. No one had asked her to do this. If they had, she’d probably be on a ship right now, sailing away.

“I’m sure you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged,” Isabela said. The book exchanged hands, going right to the Arishok himself.

“The Tome of Koslun,” he said. It was with an awe that Hawke had never heard nor seen the man express. She thought he was all grumbles and anger, yet here he was with his eyes wide as a child’s.

“It took me a while to get back, what with the fighting everywhere,” Isabela told Hawke in an aside. “You know how it is.”

“I’m sorry, are you really Isabela? You look and sound like her, but…” Hawke said.

“This is your damned influence,” Isabela said, not appreciating the sarcasm. “I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.” She smirked at that.

Hawke wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug her or hit her more, but either way she was relieved. This could end. There didn’t have to be any more death.

The Arishok gave the tome to one of the helmed Qunari guards around him, probably high ranking enough to touch such a precious artifact. The guard bowed as he backed away, cradling the book.

“The relic is reclaimed,” the Arishok said. His moment of softness faded with the sort of quickness that made Hawke question if she’d truly seen it at all. “I am now free to return to Par Vollen.”

Hawke exhaled her relief.

“...with the thief.”

“What?!” Hawke said.

“ _What?_ ” Isabela repeated.

“She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us,” the Arishok insisted.

“She betrayed our trust, too,” Hawke said. “Let her own people punish her. You wouldn’t give up the elves before, I see no reason for us to give her up now.”

“Rivaini?” Varric said, standing a ways behind Hawke. “You might want to come over here for a bit of distance from the angry guy with the horns.”

“ _Arishokost!_ ” Fenris said, stepping forward. “ _Qun-anaam ebra-toh._ You have granted this woman _basalit-an._ By this admission, she now has the right to challenge you.”

“You expect me to agree to a duel over the life of a thief?” the Arishok said.

“Hawke is a respected outsider, by your own words,” Fenris said.

The Arishok contemplated this for a moment. “This seems an agreeable deal. A duel to the death with you, Hawke. The winner keeps their life, as well as that of this lowly thief. Do you agree to these terms?”

Hawke’s eyes widened. She looked to Fenris in a moment of panic.

He nodded, whispering, “I would not send you to your death. You are capable.”

She wasn’t sure if that was as touching as he meant it to be. He might believe in her, but she was the one who was about to fight this giant.

“This is ridiculous,” Anders said. “Hawke is an archer! She can’t fight him.”

“That’s not your decision,” Fenris snapped.

“Enough,” Hawke said, before the two started butting heads. “He’s right. The decision is mine to make. I agree to these terms, and challenge you, Arishok, to a battle. Either way, you and your people must leave Kirkwall when this matter is settled.”

The Arishok snorted. “As if we would wish to stay in this city any longer, now that our passage home is seen. Let us begin.”

The floor was cleared, the nobles allowed to stand and watch. Isabela was taken by the arms by two Qunari. She struggled for a moment until Fenris whispered something to her. Isabela still seethed, but did so in stillness.

More people arrived at the door as those present shifted, bringing forth the rest of Hawke’s friends, as well as Orsino, Meredith, and Bethany. Her sister didn’t take long to realize what was going on, and was horrified, despite not raising a protest. The deal had been made. Now Hawke had to prove herself.

She called to memory what she had observed of Qunari soldiers. They were not usually ones who forgot themselves and threw all their weight into each attack. They struck with care, but still managed great force. Given the Arishok’s size, which was impressive even by Qunari standards, he would manage more than the average soldier in each swing.

His techniques would likely be closer to Tyr’s than Fenris’. It was something she was less familiar with, simply by having spent more time with one over the other. Still, there was enough there in Hawke’s mind to think up a few strategies.

Unfortunately, the best one she had was a simple “don’t stop moving, don’t get hit.” One clean strike of the axe’s edge could mean the end for her. It wasn’t a battle where she could take a bit of punishment before retaliating harder.

One of the Qunari soldiers stepped up, raising his hand. He cried something in Qunlat as he lowered his arm, signalling for the battle to begin.

As soon as the cry was emitted, the Arishok shot forward, making a wide swing. Hawke had to jump back to avoid it, without as much as a chance to draw her bow beforehand. She found herself thankful for the daggers on her belt, which gave her the opportunity to whip one out and slash at him in this moment of forced closeness.

But he recovered quickly. He arced the axe horizontal again, making Hawke duck beneath it. Then the Arishok switched things up and came down with a vertical strike. Hawke was still crouched down, forced to roll to the side to evade this one. He wanted this done quickly, apparently.

It wasn’t a good thing, really, but Hawke knew it might be advantageous. If he could wear himself out, she would find openings. It would make for a long battle, but so long as she could keep from exhaustion while dodging, it was possible.

Hawke got a little distance while the Arishok reached an arm over his back, drawing a second weapon. This was a sword. Now the fighting style was entirely alien. Some combination of Isabela, Fenris, and Tyr all at once was what she thought to expect, though she had no idea what that added up to.

Worst part was, for a big guy, he was awfully fast. He charged like a druffalo, but one with two large metal weapons that could make Hawke very dead, _very fast._ She just barely skirted out of the way, feeling a rush of wind soar past her.

Hawke took a chance, and threw one of her daggers at him as he turned to her again. It sank into his abdomen, though not all the way to the hilt. Regardless, it had to hurt. He only roared, angered by the wound.

She turned tail and ran. He gave chase, but she managed to fake him out and change directions quicker than he could register. It was just enough time to draw her bow and a single arrow, though not to aim.

It was a boon that he was so large in that he gave her a lot of target, though not every shot would have the capability of being lethal without a bit of precision. This first arrow landed just above his knee, which stopped him short as he was attempting to run after her again.

He leaned over for a moment as the pain registered, angrily gripping the arrow. The wood snapped in his palm, leaving less to stick out from his leg. The Arishok rolled his neck and shoulders, and was prepared for another attack.

The distance between them was easier to close now that Hawke was occupied with carrying her bow in one hand. It slowed her run just enough. Still, she saw a chance to make him miss. She pressed her back against one of two supporting beams in the room, and waited for him to attack.

The Arishok came in with both weapons, but she ducked down, her smaller knife already in hand. She stabbed down into his foot, using the momentum of her body as she knelt to drive it deep. Then she rolled to the side again, against the other side of the beam.

He bellowed in anguish and fury. Small droplets of blood seeped from the wound. This time, he paused to kneel down and rip the offending object from his foot. It meant he would bleed more, yes, but leaving it there would have made it even more difficult to move.

The problem for him was it gave Hawke a breather as she prepared another attack. She used a smoke bomb to conceal the both of them, then emerged from the resulting smog. She didn’t want to make it a secret where she had gone. No, Hawke _wanted_ the Arishok to chase her.

Because as he did, she was able to remember his height enough to position a shot at his chest. It missed its target by a bit, as he came slightly left of where she anticipated him to emerge, but it still hit.

This time it didn’t stop him. The adrenaline in him must have numbed some of the pain for him to continue functioning. He lunged with the sword pointed forward, in a jab that Aveline might have performed. In her panic, Hawke dodged backward instead of to the side, as she likely should have.

That gave the Arishok another chance at her. He swung his axe around, taking another large step forward to accommodate the distance she’d gained. Hawke just barely escaped this hit, pulling up the last dagger in her arsenal in defense. It didn’t stop him completely, but slowed the blade of the axe enough that she sustained no wound.

She jumped back and tried to throw the knife as before, but the Arishok was prepared and struck it down with his sword. There was no more chance of manageable close quarters fighting. She’d have to juke him like she’d done before, moving in an unpredictable manner and drawing arrows before he could get close enough to hit.

But she was already breathing hard. Her only advantage, as of then, was that she’d not been wounded in the way he had been. Some of those landings into rolls might have left bruises, but she was otherwise without injury.

Hawke attempted to continue her strategy, but as she grew tired, her arrows were less precise and with less power. Arrows snapped over his body like his skin was thick hide. The best she was managing were tiny scrapes.

The Arishok’s wounds limited some of the speed he’d displayed earlier, but did not weaken the attacks. His axe was leaving cracks in the wall from where she’d dodged at the last second. A bit of pottery was smashed by his sword when she tried to throw it for a distraction.

If Hawke didn’t end things soon, her exhaustion would be greater than his. Her earlier thoughts to weaken him weren’t working as smoothly as she wanted.

Impulse lead her forward, after that. She saw the Arishok rushing after her again, and started to run. She managed to grab an arrow as she went, though she spilled most of the rest in the process. This one would have to count more than any of her previous attempts.

With a heaving breath, she let her foot make contact with the wall. She hadn’t tried this maneuver since she was a kid, playing assassin with the old man who taught her to fight. The trick to it was confidence, and not to slow down.

The particular move she was attempting now, however, was one she had never tried before. She made it a good three steps up the wall, then pushed off on the fourth. She wasn’t sure if she heard gasps or just wooshing air.

She saw the Arishok beneath her as she flipped backward, aiming her bow and arrow down at his face. The arrow loosed, and she continued her arc downward.

She landed on her hip. The instability of moving her arms to fire a shot in midair had thrown her off so she couldn’t land on her feet. Hawke felt something snap, but wasn’t sure how bad it was at the time. Most of her was numb enough that she could only feel pumping blood and straining muscles.

But she heard _cheers._

Hawke lifted her face, still panting and sweating like crazy. She had looked just in time for the Arishok to fall backward, his face landing mere inches from her own. Shock warped his features, and a trickle of blood came down between his eyes. Her arrow had hit right there, cracking through the bones of his skull and piercing his brain. The Arishok was dead in seconds.

Though the screams were of joy, Hawke couldn’t feel it. It felt unreal. The face of the dead Qunari before her, the weakness in her arms, her arrows scattered on the floor just behind her. She trembled, too numb to even cry about it.

There were hands on her a few moments later. She didn’t know these hands. They lifted her, making her stand again.

In her periphery, Hawke could just barely see large gray bodies moving to the door, leaving with their tome, but without a leader. He was dead, his body meaningless to them. The Qun moved forward.

Then she heard the voice beside her, the person still holding one of her hands and raising it in the air in a cry of victory:

“The city has been saved!” Meredith declared. “I give you, citizens of Kirkwall, your new Champion!”

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke had broken her hip in the fall, and fractured her arm. It wasn’t until Anders and Hawke’s other friends shooed the gathering crowds from encircling her that she could stop hearing how incredible it was. No one could believe the maneuver she’d pulled. Hawke barely believed it, herself.

Anders insisted it was best not to move Hawke, so the nobles were escorted out. The mages were allowed to stay, for the moment, to ensure that their new Champion healed. Fredrick, the youngest of the mages, focused on smaller bruises and was not given larger tasks like his peers. Anders, Bethany, and Orsino all went to work on her hip.

They had to set her femur, first, which was painful and something Hawke never wanted to relive. Then their hands all glowed that familiar green as energy was pulled through the Fade. It would mend the bones quicker than she could heal naturally.

Meredith hovered during the whole process. Hawke knew Anders was having a harder time focusing with her around. He was exposing himself as a mage by helping. If she had suspected him before, those thoughts were only confirmed, now. Still, Hawke would fight tooth and nail to see him protected.

Bethany talked softly to her during the process. Some of it was just catching up, finally able to talk in person. The rest of her words served only to be soothing distractions from the reality of everything.

The Arishok’s body had already been taken to be burned. It would be unceremonious, with no more honor than they might give any criminal of Kirkwall. The viscount would be similarly treated, or at least his body would be. No one had to see his decapitated and mangled form. There were quiet discussions of a ceremony to be held in the Chantry, to at least respect his passing.

When Hawke was healed, she was given a full guard escort to her home. Courtesy of Aveline, of course. Her friends mostly followed, though soon made themselves scarce. Their existences were known, of course, but they didn’t think hanging around any longer was a good idea either way. The first to split was Isabela, probably concerned that Hawke’s promise of punishment was sincere.

Bethany was forced to leave Hawke even before that, however. The templars would return to the Gallows, and the mages would be sent back to their prison. The sisters were able to share one last parting hug before they were once again torn apart.

Hawke made it home with none of her friends sticking around. Considering it wasn’t far from the Viscount’s Keep, it was actually rather impressive that they’d scattered as they had. The guards along with her assisted in getting through the door, as it had been barricaded. They escorted those huddled in the estate back to their own homes, promising aid to those who needed and for an official announcement from the “temporary viscount” as soon as she was able.

“Who will stand in as viscount?” Hawke asked. Her throat was strangely dry, and she only then realized she hadn’t really spoken a word since the fight.

“The Knight Commander is next in power, and will take up the seat in the meantime. Someone is needed to oversee repairs and other matters to get Kirkwall back on her feet. I don’t expect it to last too long, however. A new viscount should step up in time,” one of the guards informed her.

Well none of that was good news. At least not if Meredith was in charge. Maybe she would be more reasonable in that position than in her place as head of the templars. It was a lie Hawke needed to tell herself so she could sleep that night.

Bodahn and Orana assisted her up the stairs. She was mostly healed, but still sore and disoriented. Hermes nervously ran up and down as she got up to her room, then in circles while she got to her bed. Bodahn promised a meal, but Hawke fell asleep before it got there.

She woke hours later, the weight of Hermes at her side instead of on top of her. He must have sensed her pain and chosen not to lean on her and make it hurt more. Such a smart boy. Hawke ruffled his ears, and he gave a sleepy grumble.

In the corner of her room was a covered tray. She lifted the top to find a bowl of room temperature stew and a chunk of bread. Typical Ferelden cooking, made just for her. The simplicity of the meal was welcomed.

Anders arrived a couple of hours later, brought upstairs by Bodahn.

“Oh, sorry, messere,” Bodahn said quickly. “I believed you were still asleep and he simply wanted to see how your wounds were. I know this one is a healer, so I thought it would be alright. My apologies.”

Hawke shook her head. “No need, Bodahn. Let him in.”

Anders sat on the side of her bed while Bodahn closed the door, leaving the two alone. They had a hard time looking at one another for a bit. Finally, Anders cleared his throat.

“How are you holding up?” Anders asked.

“Sore. Stunned. Tell me that wasn’t all a dream?” Hawke said.

“Unfortunately not,” Anders said. “He shouldn’t have volunteered you like that. Fenris or Aveline would have been far more capable in a fight like that. Or we could have fought him together. I could have kept you healed and—”

“Anders,” Hawke said. “It’s alright. Please. Don’t be angry with Fenris. He told me he knew I could do it. If he hadn’t believed it possible, he wouldn’t have issued the challenge on my behalf. I’m certain of that much.”

“You’re okay with him putting you at risk like that?”

“Someone had to do it,” Hawke said. “Or Isabela would be going through torture right now. Or reeducation. Which is basically a form of torture, so…”

“You are so reckless. I just don’t want anyone encouraging that further,” Anders said.

“I’m more concerned about this ‘Champion’ thing. What does that even mean for me? Or for Kirkwall? I can’t defend this city from everything. I can barely protect it from itself, most days.”

“I hear that.” Anders sighed. “I don’t know, honestly. What this will change, or what having Meredith in charge will do. She knows I’m a mage, but hasn’t stormed the clinic…yet. If your title protects me, then I suppose that’s good, but I don’t want her to hold this against you.”

“She was the one to declare me Champion. Surely she can’t hold so much of a grudge against me after doing that,” Hawke said.

“I don’t trust her intentions. Maybe she only did it to think it showed her power over you. She certainly didn’t look pleased at your win from where I was standing. Couldn’t stand someone else existing with influence over the city or her people.”

“I’m not sure she has much to worry about. Who would listen to me?” Hawke asked.

Anders was silent. He folded his hands in front of him.

“From all I’ve heard in only the few hours since the Arishok’s death? _Everyone._ ”

Hawke breathed deep. In one day, her life had changed drastically. And it would probably affect her for the rest of the time she walked the earth. This was the defining moment. She still felt numb.

Anders left her after checking on her wounds. They were almost entirely healed, given the number of mages who attended to her, but she needed to rest for a few days so she wouldn’t strain the freshly healed bones and fracture them again. The instructions were passed onto Bodahn, so someone in the house knew she had to stay in bed.

It would be horribly boring, but Hawke found that the exhaustion made it easier to excuse the demand, at first. The next few days would be more challenging as she grew more restless. She didn’t even get visitors that often. Not any that she would allow to see her, at least. Her friends were busy or avoiding her, it seemed.

She ended up sending Orana out to gather information, which didn’t get many results. Most of them were laying low while the whole thing blew over.

Sebastian was forthcoming about the goings on in and among the Chantry. There was an increase in charitable work among the sisters and mothers, but not enough new donations to do what was needed. The nobles were too busy looking after their own to offer tithes and alms.

The other large piece of news was that no one, not even Varric or Merrill, had seen hide nor hair of Isabela. She had up and disappeared even more effectively than before, with no promise of return in the near future. Wherever she was, Hawke just hoped she was safe, and keeping out of trouble.

Orana admitted to not going to Fenris’ house, and Hawke didn’t blame the girl. He still terrified her, even though she was doing better with it now. What Sebastian told her, however, was enough to know that Fen was safe.

Hawke took to reading while she could do little else. She finished what Varric had published of Hard in Hightown, and had the others fetch her random books just to see what came of interest. Few things worked, but it was something to do.

A week and a half later, Anders agreed that it would be alright for her to walk around. However, he still told her not to leave the house, as she would be mobbed the second she did. Hawke actually sort of agreed, even though it was an annoyance.

The end of the following week came with a knock on her door. A formal invitation to the viscount’s funeral had already been issued much earlier, when Hawke was still on bedrest. This time, it was an invite to a party, being held in her honor.

“If I’m going to deal with being mobbed,” Hawke thought aloud to Bodahn, “it may as well be at a function held specifically for me. I just hope there’s no tacky statue of me standing over the Arishok all triumphant.”

Bodahn agreed, and helped her prepare an outfit. She would attend alone. Orana was a bit disappointed she wouldn’t get to attend to Hawke during the evening and wear some of her prettier things, but understood why Hawke made the decision. The small elven girl would be overwhelmed by all the Kirkwall nobles vying for Hawke’s attention. The party sounded glamourous, but Hawke was certain it would be more of a horrorshow.

Well, perhaps not _that_ dramatic, but certainly nothing to want to attend. The noble honored Hawke and praised her, recounting the tale because he had apparently been there. He talked himself up a bit, as well as exaggerating her successes. There was heavy emphasis on the fact that she emerged without a scratch on her, which she supposed was technically true, if misleading. He also told the story of her running up the wall as her nearly touching the ceiling and landing perfectly on her feet.

Everyone wanted to hear that bit over and over again, so she had to tell it _over and over again._ More so than the mob she feared, Hawke just ended up bored. The nobles discussed things that were exceedingly dry and barely knew anything about efforts to rebuild. Anything Hawke wanted to know wasn’t interesting enough for them.

She escaped, at last, to Aveline and Donnic, who had been invited as well. Donnic was there more as Aveline’s plus one than as a guard. He wasn’t bothered by this in the slightest, praising Aveline as captain and remarking on how they ought to honor her, as well.

Hawke agreed. They managed to save her from some more dull conversation, as well as fill her in on what was happening in the city. Despite the fires, so much of Kirkwall was stone, and so buildings were mostly just charred. Property was still burned and many were killed in the chaos, but few things actually needed to be rebuilt.

Mostly the healing needed was just in the minds of the people. They needed to believe there was stronger leadership in place. While both Aveline and Donnic mentioned what Meredith was doing to gain a foothold and how it bothered them, they admitted that most people were looking more to Hawke than to her. It was not a comforting concept, but somewhat understandable. She was an icon; the Arishok Slayer or something to that effect.

The Champion of Kirkwall had a sort of power to it that temporary viscount did not. Especially because Meredith was more self appointed than people wanted to admit. Oh sure, they let her, but it wasn’t traditionally the way things were done.

Hawke left before the event was over, making Aveline swear to come and see her again, soon. She was going stir crazy, and needed her friends. Something normal would maybe return a bit of feeling to her body and mind.

✖✖✖✖✖

Aveline had passed along the message Hawke unintentionally sent her the night of the party. Hawke was clearly getting lonely, and needed people around her. So Varric, being the man he was, put together a big surprise for her. It was hard to arrange, because first someone had to convince her to leave the house.

That task ended up being handed to Sebastian, who claimed he wanted to be sure her inactivity wasn’t making her archery rusty. They didn’t go far, just to a place where Sebastian had set up a target and had fletched a number of arrows for them to use. It was in Lowtown, where fewer people were bothered by seeing people with weapons. It was alright in Hightown, but sometimes the nobles did sneer.

Though Hawke’s concerns now were more about people wanting to ask her questions about her archery and the battle against the Arishok. Sebastian knew not to bring it up.

Hawke took a while to get back into the swing of things, her shots hesitant and weak. The first couple of arrows fell before they even reached the target, landing on the ground and bouncing once. Sebastian kept encouraging her. Through reminders of technique and posture, she started to get better again. More than anything, it was just her confidence that had been shaken.

Sure she’d fired better than she ever had the day the Qunari attacked, but there was so much on the line. Hawke admitted to wondering if she was only so capable due to the desperation. The pressure of nobles asking to watch her practice with her bow made her wonder if she could hold up to their expectations.

“It’s like they’ll want to see me hit a bullseye every time,” Hawke said.

“That is an outrageous thing to expect, even for the most talented archer. The tension of your bow or the construction of your arrow can change everything so minutely as to throw off even the best shot,” Sebastian said.

“ _You_ know that. I know that. The people of Hightown? Absolutely do not. They’d expect me to hit the bullseye, then be so precise on the next shot that I split the first arrow with the second.”

Sebastian didn’t mention that his grandfather had been able to do that. It was a ridiculous thing to expect of her, regardless of plausibility. Besides, her complaint was more of the pressure placed on her shoulders.

“I have a suggestion,” he said. It was as good of a lead in as he was likely to get. “How about we save the shooting for another day, and go grab a drink? I'll buy. What's that place you like…the Hanging Men?”

Hawke smirked. Of course Sebastian knew the name of the place. It was her favorite haunt and a setting for so many stories.

“You don't think people there will beg for a retelling of the whole death of the Arishok?” Hawke said.

“If they do, I will tell them you're actually Hawke's long lost twin, Rebecca. Come at last to Kirkwall to retrieve her piece of the fortune,” Sebastian said. In truth, all of her friends would be there to shoo away anyone who bothered them. Tonight was for drunken revelries, not recounting a recent trauma. Regardless of how victorious the trauma sounded to others.

Hawke simply laughed at his joke and slung her bow on her back. Then, she took Sebastian by the arm and pointed dramatically, shouting, “Onwards!”

He chuckled and led her along, through the Lowtown streets until they were at the Hanged Man. When Varric popped out and yelled “surprise!” she actually was taken aback. Hawke quickly went to hug the dwarf, then returned to hug Seb, too.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It was Varric’s idea,” Sebastian said.

“Oh, I know. This has his name written all over it. But you helped out, and you came with,” Hawke said. “So you'd better stay and have a pint or I will have to shame you for the rest of eternity.”

He had already planned on staying. She was his dear friend, and he wanted the best for her. He did turn down the pint, however.

Everyone else was in attendance, save for one. Merrill tried to look as cheery as possible, despite the fact that she was frequently caught moping when she thought no one was looking. She missed Isabela, who no one had seen since the attack on Kirkwall.

“She's probably avoiding the wrath of Aveline,” Varric said. “That would make a good book title, actually.”

“Don't you dare,” Aveline said, a threat in her eyes.

“She's probably just in some other city getting drunk and scheming, as usual,” Fenris said. “She could not have gotten far without use of a ship. I'm not even sure she knows how to travel distances on land.”

“I'd bet she's found something else to steal while she sleeps her way North, through the entire Free Marches,” Anders said.

“Up to no good, certainly,” Tyr agreed, nodding.

Merrill's mope deepened.

“I am certain Isabela will return when she is prepared to face the consequences,” Sebastian said, patting the elven girl’s shoulder. “She is likely just afraid that those she cares for would abandon her in her time of need, much as she did. It is not an unwarranted fear, but one she will surely overcome. Isabela is a strong woman.”

“Thank you,” Merrill said. “I don't know you very well, but that is awful kind of you to say.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Enough of that, then!” Hawke said. She was already a bit tipsy. “Let's party until our asses fall off!”

“That isn't a saying,” Varric corrected. “Even if it was, it wouldn't be one I would use.”

Hawke didn't seem to pay him any mind. She needed to just let loose and go crazy. Seb kept a close eye on the number of her drinks, prepared to cut her off at any moment.

Fenris stopped her before he ever needed to, however. Good thing, too. She was more likely to listen to him. Sebastian still served as a good escort home, while Fenris was still too jittery and full of nerves to take her, instead.

“Hey,” said a drunk Hawke as she hung from Seb’s shoulder, an arm slung around his neck, “thanks for bringing me out.”

“I hope you thanked Varric, as well,” Sebastian said.

“Of course I did! What kind of a friend do you take me for? I just mean thanks for being the one to deliver me to them. You're a calming presence,” Hawke said. “Plus, my sister said you were super nice to her. And she thinks you're cute.”

Sebastian chuckled. Drunk Hawke often remained decently coherent, but got giggly and spoke like she had been cursed to spill a lot more truths than usual. And she already shared secrets with decent frequency.

“Bethany is quite a lovely young woman, though that is no surprise. She is your sister, after all,” Sebastian said.

Hawke snorted. “Oh, you.”

It was true that Hawke was lovely, but there was a need to deflect before the statement became too personal. Bethany was Hawke's baby sister and only living immediate relative. He couldn't be certain that there would be no protective instinct to pop up if he showed genuine interest in her sister. It was true that Bethany Hawke was quite beautiful.

After handing Hawke off to Bodahn, Sebastian returned to the Chantry. He thought, perhaps, before he went to bed, he might pen a quick letter. The Gallows did allow communication by mail, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick news for you guys, parts good and parts not so good:
> 
> I have finished the summaries for Act III, and it looks like we will have somewhere between 65-68 chapters total by the end of this thing. Which is insane to me that the fic is going to be that long, but probably good for those of you who want to keep having reading material. I’m not sure on the exact length only because there are a few summaries that are very long, and may need to be broken up into smaller pieces for my liking.
> 
> The less good, kind of bad news is that I have fallen so much off the writing wagon that it looks like a hiatus will be the best idea for me to get back to a regular update schedule at some point. I will try to make it as short as possible, but in the meantime urge you to maybe go back and read Warden Reborn if you want more of my stuff in particular. Otherwise, I’m sure there are other Fenhawke fics out there looking to be read?
> 
> The hiatus, when it happens, will likely be just before the start of Act III. I have four chapters of in between stuff that happens, so don’t worry that isn’t now! But it seemed like a good place to stop at, so the last part could be put up without pauses.
> 
> If I’m able to do this without a hiatus, I will let you all know, but otherwise I thank you in advance for your patience and understanding! You’ve all been so good to me and I really appreciate every comment, kudos, and just every reader I have. Feel free to recommend this to other Fenhawke fans and I hope you guys have a lovely day!


	38. Stages of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section was initially going to be a separate fic of letters between Beth and Seb ( _gee I wonder why_ ) but as I have changed some of the plans I had that idea no longer works. Would have been a fun side thing, but I think you will enjoy what I have in store much more!

_Dear Miss Bethany,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. This is Sebastian Vael, whom you met in Hightown during all the chaos. I apologize for the way Meredith forced the mages back into the Circle so quickly, even with all the things happening around us. Your sister named Champion and Kirkwall left in shambles… Surely you do not need these reminders of what has happened._

_I did, however, feel great concern for your safety. Hawke has told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you. I did have a sister of my own. She was the only sibling of mine that I ever got along with. So, I felt a sense of responsibility for your well-being, I suppose._

_Anders goes on and on about the Circle and its cruelties, and while I believe he has a bias, I hear it often enough to worry. I also ask for your sister, who has been so busy she's hardly a moment to spare so she might put ink to paper. Varric said she was beginning to look like one of those manic pigeons that peck all the others to get the most breadcrumbs. I've no idea how he comes up with such metaphors. He is a writer, I suppose._

_But as she knows I am writing this, she's asked me to include a few things for you, many of which I couldn't understand completely. First was that the cat has had no trouble with any dogs, so you don't need to worry. Apparently she suspects that even the top dog won't go after the Champion’s cat. He still looks after the mice in peace._

_Second, Varric says that daisies won't turn towards the sunshine and not to waste your breath. The daisies haven’t wilted, but they are in need of some fresh air. Third, the ship hasn't returned to port, yet. They suspect it is still sailing but where they don't know._

_Fourth, one I actually understand, Aveline and Donnic have been too busy with cleanup efforts to provide any gossip. Hawke insisted that you had to know. Personally, I think Hawke should not involve herself too much in people's private lives. She wouldn't hear it._

_Lastly, she told me to update you on Fenris. She said one thing in code but this I managed to decipher simply because I know the both of them too well. He was worrying himself sick after the battle, despite Hawke walking away with an impressive lack of injuries. She managed not to miss the reading lesson for him, one of the few things in her own life she was certain to keep. He's finally started to work on the book she gave to him. Hawke says this is very impressive, as even she could barely get through some of the language. He is an incredibly fast learner. None of that was her coded message though._

_What she actually told me was that yes, she still loves him and he is worth waiting for, if she must. What she doesn't know is that Fenris has a plan. He has feelings for your sister. Truly I never would have thought I could see him so possessed by love for her but he is devoted. I swore to confidentiality on what his plans are, but if you could write Hawke and encourage her not to give up on him… It would be good for them both._

_But surely this letter has taken up enough of your time. Do let me know how you are. I'd be interested in hearing about First Enchanter Orsino, as well. He was such a great help against the Qunari. It would be nice to know that he is safe._

_Best wishes,  
Sebastian Vael_

✖✖✖✖✖

_Dear Sebastian,_

_Or should I be calling you Brother Sebastian? You're not the only person who gets Hawke’s stories. Though I always get them in code. First it was because both of us were paranoid, but now it has simply become a game of riddles._

_You can tell Hawke that all is well in the Circle. We mourn our dead, but many of us were safe from the brunt of the attacks, and the Gallows saw little damage done. Practically none at all. Orsino has been anxious, with the Knight-Commander stepping in for the responsibilities of Viscount. I do not doubt that she has been a great help during the reconstruction efforts, but once such matters no longer take up her attention, she will refocus on the mages. With more power than even before… Well, we worry that she might not have the best intentions._

_I must agree with you on at least one thing; I feel as if I know you. Not as well as Aveline or Varric, perhaps, but well enough. If I may, now that I've the chance, I want to say how sorry I am for the loss of your family. As a friend of my sister, you surely know that we can relate._

_It was nice to hear from you. Or from_ anyone, _really. I was worried that something else had happened to my sister from how long it has taken her to get in touch. What is it that keeps her so occupied? Surely a moment to write her own flesh and blood could be spared. While I admit to some...frustration, on that matter, I am glad to hear she didn't cancel on Fenris. If she loves him as much as she says, you cannot let her run away from him or avoid him. She's likely to try it, eventually. Do not let her._

_Tell Varric that sometimes the sun is harsh, but a daisy needs light. A daisy can't see its reflection in the dark. I worry about it wilting. The sailor was better at caring for the daisy and if the ship hasn't come to port, it will need others to look after it. Make sure Hawke doesn't neglect her garden._

_I'm glad to hear the cat is safe. This title of hers might annoy me with extended silence, but if being the Champion keeps that furball from harm, I'm glad of it. And I know she must have an update on the sitter. Last I heard he was quite taken with our cat._

_I suspected Aveline was busy, though I was hoping for something to entertain me! There is no romance in the Circle. Even if there were, everyone would keep it to themselves, which would make living vicariously through them rather difficult. The most I've gotten lately is when one of the apprentice mages ogled me. Even in robes, apparently I can get leered at._

_Why am I telling you this? You don't want to hear this, do you? I admit the only reason I've not scratched all of that out is because I'm not sure Sarah will even have the time to read the letter I sent along to her. If you know, at least she might hear things through the grapevine._

_Finally, allow me to thank you. You were a great help during the Qunari attack and you have spent so much time looking after my sister. You really are a true gentleman, Sebastian. It was lovely meeting you, however brief that meeting was. It would have been better if we could have met in a less stressful environment._

_Tell my sister I will be very put out if she doesn't write me soon! If I don't see a letter in a week, I will find a way to kick her through the Fade! It might be impossible but I will at least try._

_As for you, feel free to continue writing me. Maker knows the distraction from studying is appreciated._

_Hope to hear back soon,  
Bethany Hawke_

✖✖✖✖✖

_Dear Sarah,_

_Sister, I shall be very cross if you do not write me soon! I know that you’ve been busy with all this “Champion of Kirkwall” business, but I am your only sister. Now with mother we’re...we’re the only family each other has left in the world, besides Gamlen. And he doesn’t write me, nor do I want him to._

_If you don’t write me, I’ll have to tell your friend Sebastian all your worst secrets. And he might tell Varric, who will tell everyone in his stories! So you are risking only yourself in not replying._

_Please, sister. I need your advice and I need some gossip. And I need to know what else is going on outside the Circle. They say Knight-Commander Meredith is in charge and First Enchanter Orsino is worried what this may mean for the mages. You know how she is and...I dare not say any more in writing. I know that_ [scratched out] _the cat is safe and Varric keeps an eye on the daisy but…_

 _Please write me._ Please. __

_Your loving (and very patient!) sister,  
Bethany_

✖✖✖✖✖

Two months had passed from the time Hawke fought (and defeated) the Arishok. Merrill had assisted in locating what Qunari swords could be found around the city, being sold off by vendors or wielded by gang members. Yes, Kirkwall’s criminals were not kept down for long in crisis. Neither was Hawke.

In fact, she and her friends were particularly active. A Qunari delegate had arrived from Par Vollen to announce the new Arishok and say that all actions of the old one did not represent the Qun, nor were they supported by the rest of the Qunari. Most didn't know what to make of this, other than seeing it as a political cover-up, but Hawke had told everyone who mattered that it was likely genuine. Qunari rarely lied outright, from her experiences.

But the delegate had asked another thing of Hawke and company. She was still _basalit an_ , which was someone worthy of trust. It made her the only one this Qunari would seek out for such a task.

Merrill asked many times why the swords we're so important when the bodies had not been. Fenris was the one to explain, as Hawke didn't actually know the answer, and managed not to sound too much like he hated Merrill’s very existence. If he hadn't held back, she may very well have finally just snapped back. She had such little patience these days.

Most of this was connected to personal frustrations with the eluvian. The arulin'holm did not respond to it as she had suspected it would. Even contacting the spirit she had been speaking to provided only confusing answers about what she was meant to do with it. And he had seemed so helpful, at the start. The spirit did at least offer other methods of trying, though none of those had worked either.

Merrill would just vent this all out to someone, but Hawke always got weird and lecturey when blood magic was mentioned and everyone else was outright disgusted with it. Even Varric was dodgy when the subject came up, choosing neutral ground over any side. To Merrill, all that meant was he was on a side that wasn’t hers, and wasn’t supportive.

Only one person had understood, and that person was gone. Merrill had seen Isabela once or twice, or thought that she had. It could be hard to tell, at times, with a flash of dark hair and skin across Merrill’s vision that vanished in an instant. Either way, Isabela or not, they had been accidental sightings. No actual contact was made, nor any attempt at it.

The Alienage was an isolation already—packing elves into a tight space where they could only interact with their own. Then, she was one of the only Dalish among city elves. Arianni was kind enough to say hello and chat about letters from Feynriel who had gotten settled into Tevinter and was searching for the right teacher to guide him. Yet, that was a really casual thing, and only when they happened to pass one another and neither one was in a hurry.

No other neighbors had gotten to know her. She hadn’t gone out of her way to get to know them, of course, but she wasn’t sure how to do so. Merrill had grown up in one clan most of her life. Her magic sprouted decently early for a mage child, and her parents gave her away to Marethari at the next _Arlathvenn,_ the meeting of all Dalish clan leaders in Thedas. She didn’t remember their faces anymore.

Clan Sabrae was all she truly knew until Hawke appeared. And until Hawke, Merrill had no idea where she would go. She knew she had to leave, and knew the nearby city was Kirkwall, but she wasn’t sure she would have been able to survive on her own. Not without Hawke, Varric, and Isabela all helping out.

With one of those three gone, she had but two people in her life remaining that were close, trusted friends. And Isabela… Merrill would hardly call her just a friend, after all they had done together. “Friends with benefits,” Isabela once called it, but an act of such intimacy hardly seemed platonic in nature. Especially with the way they spoke with one another, confided in each other…

Merrill had broken her promise, and fallen in love.

Despite Hawke’s busy schedule, she made time for Merrill and Varric one night to drink together, just the three of them. They went to Merrill’s house, for reasons unknown to the home’s actual owner. Varric provided the drinks, and Hawke provided the song with her lute. She was getting quite good at it.

And it was nice to see the rooms livened up again. They took on this dull quality when Merrill was alone too long, even when she had the prettiest colors of candles and flowers to line the walls. There was some discussion of gifting Merrill a tapestry, so long as she promised to keep candles away from it so it wouldn’t simply burn up.

She shook her head at their teasing. She wasn’t a fool! Just a bit clumsy, at times.

Still, with the alcohol rushing to her head, near the end of the night, Merrill spilled her guts. She told them how things had developed between herself and Isabela, including a few details that made both of her friends go red in the face before insisting they didn’t need to know so much. Merrill apologized, but did manage to express the depth of her feelings. She had it bad.

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Hawke said. “I’d drag that pirate’s sorry ass back to Thedas myself if I could. And if it would actually help, which I’m not sure that it would.”

“Hawke has a point, there. Isabela is a wandering soul. If she comes back, it has to be in her own time,” Varric said.

Merrill just sighed, and took another swallow of the fruity concoction Varric had mixed up for them. It wasn’t numbing the pain, but it was making it a little easier to find words for. No, not finding them. The words were the same she’d had before. It was just easier to loosen her lips and speak them aloud. It also helped that there were proper ears there for listening.

“Now I know how you felt, Hawke,” Merrill said, “when Fenris left you.”

There was a small shake in Hawke’s body, before her head lowered. Oh no.

“I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I?” Merrill said quickly, in deep shame. “I’m so sorry, Hawke. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s...okay. You’re not wrong? Not entirely. I mean, it’s different, because he’s here but not…” Hawke mumbled.

“The point is, many people are experienced in heartbreak, Daisy, but your pain is unique to you. I don’t think it serves much to compare yourself to others, though there isn’t harm in asking for advice,” Varric said, looking between the two of them for approval. He grinned once both of his companions gave sullen nods.

“So, what should I do? Since you two are more experienced and wiser?” Merrill said. “Or whatever it is you are.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. For a while I just sort of had to feel the pain and try not to spend too much time around Fenris or else the hurt would just increase. When it got easier I could see him more often. It’s both easier and harder for you because she isn’t around,” Hawke said.

“And Rivaini doesn’t know how you feel,” Varric said, “which complicates this more.”

“Maybe date?” Hawke suggested, looking to Varric for a second opinion.

“Your heart is in the right place, Hawke, but I’m not sure that’s the idea we’re looking for.”

They quickly thought up a few more: take up a hobby, go out with friends more often, eat a lot of fried dough in self pity. Nothing was really inspiring any hope in Merrill, though they did manage to make her giggle when playing pretend like they were her trying some outlandish activities to occupy her mind.

“I thought the mirror could distract me, actually,” Merrill noted, “but nothing has worked with that, either. I feel like such a failure.”

Hawke’s face fell. “Don’t say that. You aren’t a failure. I’m not sure anyone has ever tried to restore one of these before. Just for the fact that you’ve given it a shot you’ve gone further than a lot of other elves have.”

“Perhaps a better hobby would be a good idea, in that case,” Varric said. “Knitting? Did we say knitting already?”

Merrill just let the two carry on for a while, nodding when it felt appropriate. She promised to at least meet with them at the Hanged Man more regularly, so she wasn’t so isolated.

It was nice to have them look after her and worry. Perhaps overbearing at times, but Merrill wasn’t alone, and that made such a difference. She didn’t have to stew in the pain and spin around her own mind with those thoughts anymore. And, well, she did have a lot of string left. Maybe she ought to give knitting a try.

✖✖✖✖✖

Hawke didn’t normally squeal. This was a sound reserved for only the most exciting, most amazing revelations. So Aveline’s wide-eyed shock at the high-pitched noise that escaped Hawke’s body and reverberated in the halls of the barracks was warranted.

“Engaged!” Hawke repeated. “You’re engaged!”

“I know,” Aveline said, blinking and holding her hands near her ears just in case Hawke continued to be loud like that. “I just told you that.”

“I know! It’s just exciting! To think, months ago you could barely ask the man out for a date, and now you’re betrothed.” Hawke was sighing, hands on her cheeks and head in the clouds.

“It will be a simple Andrastian ceremony, nothing to get worked up over. We do intend to honeymoon, but the event itself will be in the Chantry with only a small gathering of Donnic’s family and some of my guard—”

“Not me?” Hawke said.

Aveline sighed. “No offense, but I didn’t want you to startle Donnic’s mother. Besides, you’re the Champion now. What would it look like if you showed up at the wedding of the Captain of the Guard?”

“It would probably just look like I support you, which I do,” Hawke said.

“Not the point, Hawke. People are aware of our friendship, but I don’t want my wedding to be political. This is going to be a nice, small event. Besides, Mother Elthina doesn’t like too much noise in the Chantry halls. It’s meant to be a place of peace, prayer, and contemplation.”

“Then what about an informal ceremony? Unofficial and way more fun,” Hawke suggested. “We could have Sebastian reenact what the ceremony would have been like and have way more guests. Your friends, Donnic’s friends, whoever!”

“Other than Sebastian reenacting—which we would need him to agree to before you start making plans in that head of yours—it sounds like you just want to host a reception.”

“Yes! That! Let’s do that!”

Aveline took another deep breath. Hawke’s energy was hard to keep up with. “We are not doing this at the Hanged Man.”

“Wasn’t thinking of that. _Or_ the Blooming Rose; I’m not that cruel. I have a big estate. Just have everyone come to my house and we can all celebrate!”

“You know,” Aveline said, “I hadn’t actually thought of that. Are you certain you’d be alright with having so many people gathered in your home? Especially knowing our friends and their...quirks?”

“Of course. I want to do this for you, Aveline. And please tell me you’re going to have a proper honeymoon,” Hawke said.

“When there are funds for it, yes,” Aveline said. She spoke again before Hawke could protest, “We would have waited to have enough for the wedding and trip both, but we didn’t want to wait to be married. This way, we get married now, and extend the celebration until later when we can comfortably leave Kirkwall. Especially considering the state things have been in. I don’t think we could leave for a couple of years, at least.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke said. “If anyone can hold the raging tyrant back, it would be you.”

“The Knight Commander hasn’t gotten too bad, yet. But you’re right to worry. Once her focus is off of the reconstruction and repair of the city, who knows where her attention will turn. And with no nobles stepping up to be Viscount, it may be a while before she’s replaced.”

There was a moment or two of silence. The grim thoughts of reality had to be constantly held back, for fear of despair taking over. For now, Aveline deserved to be happy and have some time to shine as a bride.

“Let me know the day, and I’ll get everything in order. Don’t you worry,” Hawke declared.

She did exactly that. Sebastian was hesitant when the idea was pitched, as it was never meant to be a brother who conducted marriage ceremonies, but when reassured that it was simply for the fun of it, he relented. Better that than Hawke donning a fake robe herself and butchering the whole thing.

Hawke got the others to agree that they would behave themselves for the night and not cause too much of a ruckus. It helped that Aveline wanted to invite most of the guardsmen. They were her colleagues and friends, after all. Even off duty, no one wanted to step even a toe out of line with all of them around.

Fenris still had the clothes Sebastian had loaned him the one time, and let Hawke take them to Orana to be washed before the night itself came. Anders and Tyr were also given an opportunity to bathe proper in the Amell estate, with access to soap. Hermes was the most reluctant of all to hop inside the heated water, but Hawke lured him with treats and promises of playtime. He smelled significantly less like a true mabari at the end of it, which was needed for a crowd full of Marchers.

Merrill had wanted to help with decorating, and offered to weave little floral headpieces like crowns for anyone who wished one. Hawke provided her with proper flowers that were purchased instead of stolen, and let her get to work. Merrill did use a bit of her nature magic to make the stems intertwine just so, but with no guests yet present, Hawke saw no reason to discourage it.

Hawke got one with sprigs of lavender with a matching one for Hermes. Merrill did not, in fact, wear daisies, though Hawke had gotten some with her in mind. Those would later end up on Varric’s head as payback for the nickname.

In fact, with Merrill’s magic, they had enough for most people in attendance to wear flowers on their head. Aveline refused, but Donnic was good humored and took a fine crown of red and pink roses. Hawke had never seen Aveline smile so brightly as she did when she looked at Donnic with those flowers on his head.

Fenris was reluctant to wear the crown, at first, but Hawke offered one up and he relented. It looked so cute on him, Hawke couldn’t stop herself from giggling. Which meant it didn’t last long on his head, but he did twist it carefully around his wrist, just above Hawke’s ribbon.

Anders and Tyr ended up with matching ones, though they didn’t stay at the party itself for long. Too many guards, they said. Hawke didn’t blame them for the discomfort.

Still, Orana provided music for the evening while Bodahn and Sandal brought out food. (Sandal had promises of pie on his mind, meaning he was on his very best behavior to help out.) There was a lot of dancing and chatter and drinking and revelry. A lot of the guardsmen even wanted to see Hermes, having rare opportunities to see a true Ferelden mabari in person. He probably had the best night of anyone, earning a lot of compliments, table scraps, and belly rubs.

Hawke went around, swapping between host duties and partying for herself. She danced with Varric and Merrill most of the time she was out on the floor. It was nice to let loose and just move around. Sebastian took her hand at one point and swept her into an elegant dance he must have learned as a prince. Without his lead, she would have been utterly lost.

Then, another surprise came. Fenris tapped her shoulder, and offered his hand to her.

“Would you like to dance, Hawke?” he said quietly.

She only barely heard him under the music and chatter. Still, she nodded her head, cheeks tingling as they flushed pink. Neither one was terribly skilled, but they managed a simple sort of two-step that was closer to just swaying back and forth. Though their eyes never left each other during the whole song, as soon as they stepped away, they could barely look up from their feet.

Varric had to pull Hawke over for another dance with him to break the awkwardness, while Sebastian offered to show Fenris the dance he’d done with Hawke, earlier. It was hard for Hawke not to sneak peeks over at the two of them as Fenris learned the moves from Starkhaven’s prince.

Aveline was mostly glued to Donnic, but they did make the rounds together and spent time with everyone. Donnic expressed his utmost thanks for Hawke’s generous offer to let them use her house for the reception. Aveline was just glad there wasn’t too much chaos, and enough guards still on duty to keep Kirkwall safe.

“Get her to stop working, sometimes, will you?” Hawke told Donnic.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” he said with a laugh.

“You two…” Aveline said, attempting to sound disapproving despite the smile still tugging at her lips.

Hawke just giggled. Soon after that, she ran over to Orana for something which they had rehearsed. Orana handed over the lute she’d been using, and Hawke stood on the steps to call for everyone’s attention.

“I want to thank you all for being here. Now I want to open up the floor for anyone who wants to share a few words about Aveline and Donnic, but before I do, I have a song I want to dedicate just to them,” Hawke said.

Curious, everyone waited for her to begin. She had to take a deep breath and close her eyes before she could start plucking at the strings and letting the tune carry.

_“Suns out, but it feels like rain_  
_So I will, illuminate your day_  
_I'm afraid I'm losing it, what's it gonna take for me to get_  
_Through this?_  
_We'll get through this_

_Even the brave may depend on someone_  
_The moon only shines with the help of the sun_  
_And it's not as safe when your walking alone_  
_I’ll walk you home...”_

Hawke was quick to hop down from the steps, despite the applause. She didn’t want to hog the attention for the night, when it was meant to be on Aveline and Donnic. Reaching for Varric, she hurried him up onto the steps and told him to tell the audience a story about Aveline.

While he talked, Hawke escaped to the safety of Sebastian, Orana, and Fenris, who were quietly waiting off in a corner. Orana took the lute back and went to put it away for a while, expecting music wouldn’t be needed while stories were being shared.

“You’ve such a beautiful voice, Hawke,” Sebastian said. “A shame the Chantry doesn’t get to hear it. You would be a welcome addition to the Andrastian choir. Someone needs to help them keep decently in tune.”

“Careful, Seb,” Hawke warned with a smirk, “the Maker is always listening.”

“Of course. And he deserves only the best music in a place meant to honor him,” Sebastian said with a wink.

Hawke laughed. Sebastian was fun when he stopped being so stuffy. Fen, meanwhile, was just red-eared and shifty-eyed.

“It would be nice to hear it more often,” Fenris said.

Hawke beamed. Compliments from him meant more than compliments from anyone else in the world. She expressed her gratitude a little louder than she intended, almost like one of Hermes’ little yelps. Thankfully, she was well timed with one of the choruses of laughter Varric’s story brought out in the crowd, and didn’t draw too much attention to their little corner.

All in all, the night was glorious. It was the happiest Hawke had seen the house looking in so long. Even once everyone had left, the whole place was filled with such joyous energy. She wanted to soak it all up. Hawke wanted to always live somewhere that held such a pure warmth of emotion.

More than anything, she knew it helped that there had been so many people around her. They breathed life into the place, which was often just empty halls and rooms she didn’t use. Hawke felt an ache for her mother. An ache for her sister. An ache for someone by her side.

Hermes padded up to her, nudging her legs with his body. She chuckled and patted his head.

“You’re right,” Hawke said. “I shouldn’t get so melancholy after a night like that. Let’s think of nice things together, alright?”

Hermes barked his approval. It was all the agreement she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn’t initially planning on having Hawke sing, but then I was like, “why not?” Which is always a compelling argument. [So here is the song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MCB96wenhM) It’s Walk You Home by Karmina, a band my boyfriend introduced me to back around when we were first getting to know each other. It’s also really pretty and gave me Fenhawke vibes which is always a good reason to include a song in this fic, in my opinion.
> 
> Who knows, maybe I’ll learn it and record it at some point? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	39. A Return to Smuggling

_Dear Sarah,_

_While you still have not responded (for shame!) the state of things in the Circle has not improved. Rather the opposite. I told you last in my letters that the Knight Commander’s reach has been extended, and it extends yet again. I have never heard the threat of Tranquility used with such alarming frequency, in all my time here. This place never felt safe, exactly, but it never felt like I was in active danger._

_I am sending this with hopes that it will actually reach you. Rumors have spread that letters in and out are getting more censored with her in charge of the whole city. I pray that isn’t true. I have always suspected the templars of rummaging through some of our mail, but now…_

_Sister, I don’t have much time to spend on this letter, I’m afraid. Orsino wants me to help oversee some training, today. He trusts that the templars will treat me more gently, due to my relationship with you. Some days I feel he is right that the name of Hawke protects me in here, and others I feel only as if it has painted a target on my back._

_Please respond as soon as you’re able._

_Your loving sister,  
Bethany Hawke_

✖✖✖✖✖

_Dear Bethany,_

_I’m so sorry I haven’t been sending any letters back. I hoped that Sebastian would keep you updated, since the two of you have been in correspondence the past few months. I know I shouldn’t have put that all on him, however. That was wrong of me. Even if it’s just in writing, you should hear from me directly._

_Friends in Darktown have expressed similar concerns about the state of things. I dare not say too much, and I’m already afraid of what attention you may have gained with your last message. For now, keep your head down, do what you can to be safe. If there is something that can be done on the outside, maybe I can help things improve._

_Stick close to Orsino, as well. If my protection is not enough, his will hopefully cover where mine lacks. He seems like a good enough man from what little interactions I’ve had with him. I don’t know that I would trust many with your life other than myself, but without any other choice, I will trust in him as First Enchanter._

_Keep me updated. Please._

_All my love,  
Sarah Hawke_

✖✖✖✖✖

_Dear Seb,_

_I know you will speak with Hawke, and I sadly don’t have time to reply to your letter in full. But I am sending this so you know I am safe. And don’t think I missed those subtle bits of flattery. You are too kind to say such things of me, but I thank you for it regardless._

_Know that I don’t want to ask too much of you, but now may be a good time to use your connection to the Grand Cleric. As an arm of the Chantry, the templars would have to comply if Elthina asked them to step back from what duties they have taken on over the months. The Chantry is not meant to rule Kirkwall. It needs a proper Viscount._

_I don’t wish to put you in such a position, but I have no other recourse. And from what you have said, I believe she may listen to you. Just know that I do not ask this lightly._

_Yours,  
Bethany Hawke_

_P.S. I stole away one last moment to mention that I enjoyed the pressed flowers. Thank you._

✖✖✖✖✖

“Surely there’s something you can do, Anders,” Hawke said. She ran her hands through her hair for about the millionth time that night.

“I’m telling you Hawke, the pressure from Meredith extends to my people, as well!” Anders said. “The Mage Underground is shrinking, and fast. So many tunnels have been closed off and patrolled. Many attempted escapes of late have been thwarted, and most of those caught made Tranquil as an example. The fact that Meredith hasn’t just called for mass Tranquility already shocks me, even now.”

“We know she turned down that plan before,” Tyr reminded him. Hawke had found documents that proved as much.

“But she might have changed her mind. Or it was never her mind that needed changing, just how much power she was given. Now she is both Viscount and head of the templars. Who stands to stop her?” Anders said. “Elthina?”

“Do you think talking to the Grand Cleric would get us anywhere?” Hawke asked.

“I’ve already had people speak with her. I’ve had them bring copies of my manifesto, from early drafts to later versions. I have even risked myself by going to speak my piece with her once or twice, just to see if I might change her mind. She is blind to the suffering her inaction causes,” Anders insisted. “She can do no good so long as she does not speak up.”

“Perhaps she stands to benefit from Meredith’s power,” Tyr said.

“Let’s not jump to conspiracy theories, now,” Hawke said. “All I want is to make sure my sister is safe. And right now, I fear the only way to do that is by getting her out. You read her letter, too.”

Anders just kept pacing. Yes, he had. Yes, the situation seemed dire. And yes, it was possible the only way for Bethany to be kept entirely safe was for her to be outside the Circle. Had Hawke asked a year ago, there would have been no hesitation. They would already be on the plans. Now, Hawke and her family were under a microscope. The templars would notice the very moment Bethany was gone.

Unless they had significant distractions. Yes, something to draw their eyes away. Not Hawke herself, no. Hawke needed to be outside and seen by as many people as possible. Anders would not have her go without a solid alibi protecting her.

“There are the old lyrium tunnels, still,” Anders said. “Templars are more reluctant to close them off, because they still see occasional use for their old function. There's one we could use to get to Bethany, but the risk would be high. It's frequented by templars looking for a fix, not to mention some of the wild beasts and things that make homes there.”

“But it is possible?” Hawke said.

“With some incredibly careful planning and a team of people ready to do whatever is needed, yes. But you need to be sure the chances of getting her out are worth the danger,” Anders said.

“Keeping my sister from turning Tranquil is worth my own life, if I could give it in exchange for that promise,” Hawke insisted.

“Do not be so ready to throw your life away. You are needed in Kirkwall,” Anders said.

“He's right,” Tyr agreed.

“We will also need a plan of where she can go after this. Having her stay in the city is too risky. I could arrange—”

“No,” Hawke interrupted. “She stays with me. I can hide her in the cellars. I've already thought of plans for how to do that.”

“Would she accept a life relegated to the cellar of an estate?” Tyr said.

“She won't only stay there. Just when she has to be hidden,” Hawke argued.

“She can't exactly stroll around Hightown, though,” Anders said.

“I know that. Look, she's either trapped inside the Circle made to abide by the whims of Meredith, or she is trapped inside a house with me where at least she can have nice food and clothes and not be scared for her life,” Hawke said.

“She also might get lonely,” Tyr said.

“Then visit her!”

“Stop, stop. I'll do it. Just be certain it's what she wants and that she's prepared. Talk in your sister code and don't break it for a moment. What the two of you have already said puts her at so much risk. We can't afford more,” Anders said.

Hawke nodded. She hugged Anders tightly before running off to start drafting a letter. She had to think of ways that they could use their code to have this conversation. Templars were dogs, to contrast Anders the cat. That was easy. Otherwise she mostly stuck to Varric’s nicknames when talking about someone.

If they were busting out Merrill she could say they needed to “re-pot the daisy.” But how does someone move sunshine? The sun only moved itself.

_Dusk._

Hopefully not too subtle so Bethany would understand, but not too obvious so the templars would never catch on. Yes, she could make this work. Varric would be proud at the end of all this, to know how Hawke hatched a scheme and wielded words as her only weapon. Words and a bit of smarts. She’d have to see if her handy household savant was up to some tasks she had in mind.

✖✖✖✖✖

They hadn’t spoken to Hawke in a few days. Not, at least, anywhere they might be seen with her. Anders and Tyr had to keep everything nice and quiet. All suspicion was to be off of Hawke. Oh, the templars would check on her regardless, but her part of the plan was solidly in place.

Anders still thought it would be safer to simply send Bethany back to Ferelden. So much had been rebuilt already, and she knew how to hide out there from years with her family. Maybe she would be far away, but she would also be outside of Meredith’s reach. Being in Ferelden meant that, at worst, she’d be sent to Gregoir.

Anders never thought the day would come where that would seem a preferable option, but it was the evil he knew. Versus Meredith, someone who was becoming more unstable and powermad by the day. On a good day, Gregoir could be reasoned with. Meredith simply didn’t have good days to begin with.

Regardless, Hawke had the veto power in her position as Bethany’s sister. And even Bethany seemed to agree. It was a bit difficult to tell in all coded language like that. (Anders could never decide if he liked being referred to as “the cat” or not. Tyr definitely wasn’t fond of being called “the sitter.”)

So the plan had gone into motion. Anders counted the past few days, as Hawke had planned out various ways to be seen that would be ordinary behavior for her. She checked in on the Bone Pit miners, stopped by Fenris’ place for a reading lesson, went shopping, and often wound up at the Hanged Man. Today, that was her base of operations.

Most of what she had to do was be seen, stay calm, and wait it out. Anders would send word to her when the time was right and Bethany was safe and secured. Funny that the one person with a bit of a history of smuggling things couldn’t be involved in this directly. But Hawke had aided in planning, which was useful.

Tyr gripped Anders’ hand. This tunnel was cramped and dark, and only a small flicker of conjured flame lit their way through. Anders had to lead the way for this reason, which meant Tyr was trusting his steps with every one of his that followed. No one else was with them.

They considered asking Merrill; she was another mage, and would support the cause. But she was not the most secretive sort, nor the most coordinated or crafty. Anders also didn’t like that she still used blood magic. No matter what sort of person she was otherwise, it was foolish to play with fire like that.

...the irony of the flame in his hand did not miss him.

Tyr was neither here nor there on the subject of blood magic or of Merrill, but agreed to Anders’ decision on it. If she was more of a risk than they could afford, a two man crew would work just as well. There were a few others yet in the Mage Underground, still fighting in every way they could, but stealth seemed preferable this time.

It was why the plan had changed. They bypassed the more frequently occupied lyrium smuggling tunnels when The reminded Anders of a much smaller one. This route known only to them and one other person. It was too small for templars and illegal lyrium trade.

These old forgotten tunnels were discovered by someone who had already escaped a year ago. She had wounded herself badly on the way, and wound up in Anders’ care. When she recognized symbols of the Mage Underground on his walls, she told them how she’d gotten out, all on her own. She’d had to endure a few scrapes when the walls got tighter, and couldn’t carry anything with her. From the size and construction of the tunnel, they must have been used before the mages even took up residence there. It was a tunnel for escaping slaves.

Why it hadn’t been discovered before, well, that was due to the location. Bethany had to figure out a way to get into the templar’s quarters, undiscovered, and alone. There were ways through to it, but they were meant to be locked and inaccessible to anyone who wasn’t a templar. The mage who had escaped didn’t mention how she had gotten into the templar quarters. She didn’t have to.

Anders took a deep breath at the memory, forcing down his instinct to flare up. Light was necessary, yes, but Justice was not. Not unless things went entirely sideways.

Hawke promised that Bethany had a plan that wouldn’t get her in any danger. No more than the rest of the plan already placed her under. She had Orsino’s ear, and his trust, which was a great boon. Hawke mentioned something about him aiding Bethany through the grief after Leandra’s passing. Orsino was a kind man.

Anders had few other personal opinions of him. Orsino made public stands against Meredith when she overstepped bounds or was obviously cruel. It helped, if only marginally. Meredith still remained in her position of power, but when the issue was brought to the public, she had to be reigned in a little. If for no other reason than to appease any noble families with children within the walls of the Gallows.

The one big positive in Orsino was that he was aware of the Mage Underground, and allowed it to continue. He had to make a show of looking for any signs of mages planning escapes or reading manifestos related to mage freedoms, but would also look the other way when needed. Bethany had apparently been able to let him know, somehow, that she had plans to leave. Which meant her phylactery would be “mysteriously taken care of.”

It couldn’t be destroyed, Anders knew, as it would be too obvious that someone high up was involved in tampering with it. However, a little altering to the etched enchantments that kept the blood from spoiling would render them useless. Spoiled blood could not be used to track a mage, living or dead.

Tyr shifted uncomfortably behind Anders. The tunnel was getting exceedingly tight, and his larger frame was not suited for this. Anders was still thin and had zero muscle to speak of, which meant he could slide through a lot easier. Tyr was already without his axe, which was another issue he was having.

“I’m not certain I can get to the other end,” Tyr said. “Even the girl had many scrapes from the walls.”

“It’s alright. I’ll figure this out. Wynne knew a bit about earth shaping. The old bat was a talented mage, even though she was a Chantry loyalist through and through,” Anders said, rolling his eyes. There wasn’t much actual reason to do so, as Tyr couldn’t see well enough to appreciate or even know that Anders’ eyes had moved like that.

“I’m a little concerned about the tunnel collapsing,” Tyr said. “I don’t want to leave you, but…”

Anders grit his teeth. Already there was a clear snag in their plan. There were too many variables from the start, not to mention no way of contacting Bethany once she set everything on her end in motion. She would either be there to meet them at the right time, or not.

No practice runs meant this was a harried hustle, a pathetic struggle against inevitable failure. Anders could see himself now, clapped in irons or merely killed while Tyr remained trapped and unaware in a too small tunnel.

Regardless, Anders wouldn’t turn back. There was too much resting on his shoulders.

Anders summoned up what teaching Wynne had gifted him of earth shaping magic. It was not like Merrill and her Dalish vines and nature connection. It was earthen, and did indeed come from natural things, but it was solid. It took more forcefulness than the other, more graceful forms of magic. The Fade is not a place that usually deals in the tangible, so for Anders to do what he needed, he had to take something shaped from memories and make it physical and strong.

Cracks formed around where Tyr stood. The focus Anders gave was starting to work, but still did very little. This required more help. He closed his honey eyes, then opened them again in a glow of blue.

The dirt of the tunnel around them crumbled and packed itself back, enough to widen the space. Tyr managed to shuffle through all the way to the end, as planned. Then, they waited behind a false wall. On the other side could have been one of three things: a group of furious templars, a room with no life in it at all, or…

“Time,” Tyr whispered.

On the other side of the false wall, a small scraping noise came through. Then, a small voice, shaking as it said, “Has the cat come to see the sunshine?”

Anders exhaled hard, realizing only then that he’d been holding in a breath. He laughed a little before saying the stupid thing Hawke instructed him to in response. He didn’t even care how foolish it was in his relief.

“Meow meow, I need a nap!” he said. It was loud enough to make it through the thickness of the wall, without drawing more attention to the room.

The false wall moved, then, as Bethany used a little magic of her own to aid in pushing it. Anders realized just how dark the tunnel had been as the light of the room spilled over his face. He could barely see Bethany as he squinted through it, but didn’t mind at all when she leapt forward to hug him.

She scraped her elbows a bit as she drew back, misjudging the space the tunnel left for her. Anders did what he could from behind her to assist in replacing the false wall, then relit his flame to guide their way as Tyr produced a torch.

There wasn’t enough room to shuffle around the order they went in, so they proceeded just as they were, chaining hands together. They couldn’t get seperated in the single passage. The contact was more for security and reassurance than any practical need. As it kept Bethany’s breathing more even, Anders thought it was a good thing they did hold on to one another.

The outside greeted them with salty sea air. A simple rowboat awaited, having traversed through to a tiny shore outside of the Gallows. The three climbed aboard while Anders explained the rest of the plan to Bethany, in case Hawke had missed any details.

They did exactly as Anders described, taking the boat to a nearby shore where numerous things they had packed awaited in a hidden location. They would trek for a couple of hours before the sun started to fall, and make camp in an area of the Wounded Coast. It would be warded for safety, similar to the clinic.

A secret entrance to the city (one often used by smugglers) would be their next destination, moving before the sun even started to rise again and arriving in Kirkwall at just about dawn. It gave them little time to rest, but was safer for what risk there was of being seen. They would be deposited in part of Lowtown, and use Hawke’s known Undercity routes to get into Darktown near the clinic.

Every step was taken with care as they followed the plan to the letter. Tyr even scouted ahead a bit to be certain no templars were walking the area where the entrance to Kirkwall was hidden. Luck was on their side, and no one was in sight.

Bethany hid herself in heavy draped cloth from one of the bedrolls the two had packed. It made it difficult to move, but concealed her identity. They made it to the clinic with little difficulty.

Finally, they could all breathe. A few moments were taken to examine scrapes from the tunnel that they’d not had time or resources to heal before. Once everyone was certain they were taken care of, Anders went to deliver the good news to Hawke.

“Take Bethany inside, to the cellar room Hawke made up for her,” Anders said, before hurrying away. “I’m sorry, but for safety’s sake you’ll be staying there for the first few days.”

 

“Sarah already told me,” Bethany said. “Honestly, at this point I’d just like a hot meal and warm bed to retire to.” She yawned mid-sentence, as if to emphasize the point.

“I know you have one of those things,” Tyr said. “I can ask Bodahn about food.”

Bethany smiled sleepily and nodded. “Go find my sister, then. It would be nice to see more familiar faces. Not that I mind getting acquainted with your beau,” she teased.

Anders flushed a little out of habitual embarrassment. Then, he was off, taking a bit more time as he headed back towards Lowtown. Hawke said she’d stay with Varric for a night, so she wasn’t trying to sleep through her anxieties alone. Which likely meant the poor dwarf needed rescuing so he wasn’t smothered to death.

Anders chuckled to himself at the mental image that produced. He was still tense, but smiled with more ease than he had in weeks. Bethany had been brought to the estate safely. The rest, Hawke would have to be prepared for. The templars weren’t going to let the Champion’s sister go without investigating.


	40. The Price of Freedom

Hawke welcomed in Knight Captain Cullen with a nervous air. It was easy to pass that as “concerned sister,” and not “guilty person terrified of being caught.” The rest, she had to talk through.

“Is it appropriate to offer tea? I admit I’ve never been in a situation quite like this,” Hawke said, wringing her hands.

“No tea, thank you. I do not want to make this more unpleasant than it need be. You are the city’s Champion, and with that comes a certain amount of respect,” Cullen said. “However, this does not mean you are in any way above the law, serah Hawke. Do not be mistaken in thinking that your position frees you from our investigation.”

“Of course, Knight Captain,” Hawke said. “Why else would you and your friends be here?”

She gestured to three templars behind him, all wearing full armor with helmets on. She didn’t recognize a single face, though one rose a single hand in a wave. Hawke quirked her brow, and gave a confused wave back before Cullen noticed and cleared his throat. The templar’s hand fell back down.

“Please, sit,” Cullen said.

Hawke did, while Cullen took a seat opposite her. The three other templars remained standing, taking their role as intimidation by remaining at attention. She tried to avoid watching them, keeping her focus on the Knight Captain himself.

“I already heard talk around Hightown,” Hawke said. “Word spreads fast in Kirkwall, you must know, Knight Captain. They say my sister has gone...missing?”

“It appears she has escaped from the Gallows. Your association with known apostates is no secret, serah. The Knight Commander sends warning that we can put pressure on those two if you do not give us all the information you have,” Cullen said.

“Surely,” Hawke said, “if there were known apostates, the Templar Order would be handling them?”

“Their existence is known, yes. And make no mistake, we have only failed in locating them from a lack of resources placed into this cause. However, if we find it necessary, any mage in this city can be found with the right attention paid to them. They have not exhibited excessive signs of danger and are entrusted to your watchful eye. The Knight Commander also reminds you that she has been very generous in allowing this.”

“Why has the Knight Commander not come to say these things herself, then?”

Cullen swallowed. “You know Knight Commander Meredith has also taken on the position of temporary Viscount. She is an incredibly busy woman. Matters like these, important though they may be, are sometimes handed down the line. As her second, the case of Bethany Hawke has fallen to me.”

Hawke allowed her lip to quiver for just a moment, pretending that there were more emotions she needed to mask besides the nerves. Blinking as if holding back tears, she feigned feigning composure.

“I simply want to know that my sister is safe, Knight Captain. I want reassurance that you will be able to help me know that she isn’t in great danger. She could have been kidnapped or harmed… I don’t know all that goes on behind those great big walls of yours. If my Bethy became involved in something dangerous—”

“We have reason to believe she was working with the so-called ‘Mage Underground.’ The same method of tampering with her phylactery was used as we have seen in previous cases. Otherwise, we wouldn’t need to be having this conversation right now,” Cullen said.

“Tampering?” Hawke said. “How can one tamper with those things? I thought you had those under serious lock and key?”

“We have been looking into it. That is not the matter I am here to discuss. There is reason enough to believe you may have some knowledge of your sister’s whereabouts,” Cullen said, his patience clearly thinning. “I was the one to take her to the Circle years ago, and I remember how you attempted to fight it.”

“As any loving sister would fear her sibling being taken,” Hawke said. “But I’ve seen her growth in the Circle. I know what good a Chantry sanctioned education can do for a mage. The way she healed people during the Qunari invasion was unlike anything she’d ever done outside the Circle. She has grown, and in a way that benefits Kirkwall as a larger society. I’d hate to see her turn her back on that, now, after everything.”

“Are you saying you’ve come around in support of the Circle?” Cullen said.

It was a wilder claim than she’d normally aim for, yes, but Hawke was sticking to it as best she could. “Perhaps not full support, no. More freedoms could be allowed. Letting the mages see the sun or allowing visits from family, for instance. But the teaching done there is so beneficial to the growth and control of a person’s magic. There is no safer place for Bethany to be.”

Cullen did not lower that raised brow of his. He scratched the back of his curly head, however, in a sign of uncertainty. This wasn’t going too badly, thus far. Hawke just had to keep it up.

“Despite all that you say, serah, I'm afraid we do have to search your estate,” Cullen said, straightening.

Hawke frowned. “Is this standard?”

“It has been, of late,” he answered. It sounded dodgy as hell, but Hawke wasn't too surprised. Of course powermad Meredith was pushing her limits.

“By all means,” Hawke said, gesturing behind her, “be my guest.”

The Knight Captain nodded, then nodded again back at the other templars. “This will not take long.”

Hawke waited downstairs near the foyer. Bodahn had his instructions: show them everywhere in the house except the cellar. If they asked to see it, they would need Hawke. She had the key on her, after all.

Hawke felt no need to be with them every step of the way. Cullen did still leave one templar (not the friendly one) with her. Probably to make sure she didn't run off. Hawke just picked up a book she'd been meaning to show Seb on famous archers and legends about bows and bowmen, reading it as if nothing was amiss. She allowed herself a few nervous glances, figuring it could pass as worry over her “missing” sister.

It took longer than she anticipated before Cullen was back to inquire about the cellar.

“Of course,” Hawke said. “Right this way.”

She had held onto a small hope they wouldn't ask, but plans were already in place for this reason. Hawke unlocked the door and gestured once it was open to allow the templars through, first.

They went down the stairs, entering a small storage area. There was a wine rack and some other food supplies there, a large armoire, and multiple chests full of money and precious belongings. The deed to the estate was locked safely in one of those, plus old family mementos.

They inspected every nook and cranny, even opening the armoire as if Bethany would pop out of the many old dresses and coats to shout “boo!” They checked for any sign of an occupant or hiding place for a sneaky mage. And, as Hawke knew would happen, they found nothing.

Knight Captain Cullen turned to her, standing at perfect attention. “Thank you for your patience, serah Hawke. I think that will be all, for today,” he said. His jaw was held tight.

“You will keep me informed, I assume? If anything… If news arises about my sister—”

“If she is found, you will know. We ask that you inform us if she attempts to contact you. Make no mistake; she may be your sister, but she is still a mage and quite dangerous. It is possible she may have taken to blood magic and become possessed. What a mage is capable of—”

“I know, Knight Captain,” Hawke said. Her fists were clenched. “My own mother suffered at the hands of a maleficar your templars failed to apprehend. You don't need to tell me what a danger magic can hold.”

This seemed enough to satisfy the squad of templars. They excused themselves and made their way to the front door. Hawke waited several moments, partially to calm herself down after his “warnings” got her all pissed off, before making her next move.

“They are gone, messere,” Bodahn said from the top of the stairs. “Long gone.”

“Good. Thank you for your help, today. I couldn't have done this without you,” Hawke said. “Or without Sandal.”

“I'm just glad to be repaying you for our debt. The way you saved my boy, then the city itself… You're a true hero, messere.”

Hawke smiled and waved him off. He never stopped singing her praises. The flattery was welcome, but she had to check in on Bethany.

Good thing Cullen wasn't bright enough to figure out where the various latches were on the false back of the armoire. Even if he'd found them, operating them took a bit of finesse, as well. Dumb templars never saw it coming!

Hawke pushed against the back of the armoire once she'd fiddled with the latches, then moved it to the side. It worked like a sliding door. People didn't use them in many places, but they had been in fashion for Orlesian architecture for a brief period. Lucky for Hawke that she'd been picking up some eclectic knowledge when reading with Fenris.

Lucky, too, that the true depth and expanse of the cellar was not in any documentation for the estate. It was known only to any occupants, current or previous, and most of those who came before were deceased. The slavers were too decomposed to squack, and Gamlen had no interest in doing so. He was a slacker and an ass, but he was loyal to his family. He knew what to say if the templars came to his door: nothing.

Bethany was waiting just beyond the secret door, and leapt to hug her sister the moment Hawke was through. Anders and Tyr were finally able to relax their shoulders, having been there to stand guard in case something went horribly wrong.

“He didn't hear anything? Anders sneezed at one point and I was sure we were goners,” Bethany said, still clutching Hawke's forearms.

“Not a peep. Seriously, Sandal’s silence enchantments worked perfectly. You could still hear us?” Hawke asked.

“Every bleeding word out of that asshole’s mouth,” Anders grunted. “'Serah Hawke, mages are dangerous and are all out to get us!’ What a rotten piece of…”

“Yeah, I’m with you there,” Hawke said. “Still, I wish you guys could have seen his face. Looked like he was having a rough day standing over the chamberpot!”

Hawke cackled while Bethany attempted to muffle a snicker. The other two looked unimpressed by jokes about Cullen’s difficulty passing things through his bowels. At least things were safe enough for the time being that they could joke at all.

“I’m still amazed by that dwarven boy,” Anders said. “You said he did that without prompting?”

“Wasn’t even aware it was possible!” Hawke said. “I was just hoping the coats and things would muffle it and maybe Sandal could make the back panel really strong and able to take some hits in case the templars tried to just pound away at it.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement. Savant, indeed.

“Well, unless you think they’ll be back—”

Hawke interrupted Anders, “They won’t be.”

“—then we should be off.”

Tyr lead the way down through the cellar, passing the bed, bookcase, and other little bits of furniture they had arranged in there for Bethany. If she had to be hiding, she may as well hide in as much luxury as they could afford her. Hawke was still very apologetic about making her stay down in the cellar. It didn’t hurt for caution under Meredith’s reign of terror.

“I understand, sister, don’t worry,” Bethany said. “As long as I don’t have to stay here forever or be kept alone. The nice thing about the Circle was all the company and people of similar minds. I don’t want to just stay in the cellar reading all the time.”

“I’m taking you up for dinner right now, aren’t I?” Hawke said, body already halfway through the secret entrance.

“Yes, and the hot meals are definitely a plus. Food in the Circle was…passable. But that isn’t what I mean. Anders gave me this old cloak of his that he used when he came north, and suggested that I ought to use it to walk around Darktown a bit. Just for fresh air,” Bethany said.

“Fresh is a bit of a stretch for Darktown.”

Bethany rolled her eyes, following Hawke into the regular cellar. “You know what I mean. Lowtown might be too dangerous and Hightown will make me stick out like a sore thumb. Darktown and the rest of the Undercity are my only options.”

“Yeah, and anyone who used to work for or with Athenril will recognize you pretty quickly.”

“Sister,” Bethany said, losing patience, “what is the point of freeing me if I’m simply placed in another cage?”

Hawke exhaled. Guilt twisted her guts into a knot. “This isn’t meant to be forever. It’s just until things die down a bit. Even then, you’ll probably need a disguise…”

Bethany started up the stairs, the heaviness of her footfalls giving away her mood. As if the clenched fists and small groan weren’t enough. Hawke felt like Bethany was back to her teen years. She’d had to hide a lot then, too, but Hawke was rarely the one enforcing that. If only Leandra were back.

Hawke needed to stop having that thought.

“I don’t exactly want you to be stir crazy, either,” Hawke said. “Just give it a little while. Varric is going to give the all clear once his contacts think it’s safer. Other mages will be escaping, now that Meredith is putting on the pressure. You might be my sister, but there will be other cases of interest for them to chase. Known blood mages, for instance.”

“I just want to be able to see the sky. Those few hours I spent walking with Anders and Tyr were the most blessed moments of my last few years. Despite all the tension and the fear I felt, I could still smell something other than stale air and fish. I want that again,” Bethany said.

“I promise you’ll have it. Just give it a little time.”

“And I want to work some jobs with you.”

“Oh?”

“And I’d like to see Sebastian again.”

“... _oh._ ”

Her sister’s blushing face and averted gaze as they sat at the table told Hawke more than Bethany herself would ever admit. Seb was pretty handsome, but he was also a Chantry brother. Sworn to the Maker. He’d feel obligated to tell someone that Bethany wasn’t in the Circle, wouldn’t he? And he was celibate! Which Hawke wasn’t sure was actually a problem for Bethany, nor did she want to consider it for long, but it was still true.

“I’m pretty sure he’d freak out if he knew you were an a-o-p-s-t-a-t-e.”

“An…aopstate?” Bethany said.

“What? Oh, no wait. A-p-o… You get the point. He’s not for mage freedom the way Anders is. To be fair, no one is the way Anders is about it, but still. Sebastian is a nice guy and was okay with Anders and Merrill because they’re my friends that I trust. He might think you’re nice, but he could also worry that my judgment is biased because you’re my sister. It won’t be as easy to convince him that you should be free,” Hawke said.

Bethany crossed her arms. “I think you’re wrong, sister. I think he’s more open-minded than you say.”

“I’d like to believe that, too, but things just aren’t that simple.”

“I just miss our correspondences. When you were too busy to respond to me he was writing me every chance he got. He’s become something of a friend to me and I’d like to see him again. Face to face.”

Hawke took another deep breath, sighing. She couldn’t say no to her baby sister. Not while she was being kept cooped up in the cellar like she was an actual criminal. Maybe the Chantry would argue that Bethany was, but to Hawke, that definition was ludicrous.

“I’ll see if I can talk to him and arrange something. For now, all I will promise is that I can deliver him a letter from you. Just don’t tell him anything about the escape or where you are,” Hawke said.

“Won’t it be suspicious if you deliver it?”

“Good point. Varric can find someone for us, then. At least that way you can talk.”

Bethany uncrossed her arms and nodded. She started to eat and dropped the subject, so Hawke could only guess that was satisfactory. Though it was hardly the last anyone in the house would be hearing of it.

✖✖✖✖✖

Sebastian decided the meeting should be outside the Chantry, for once. Hawke had also been heavily hinting at not wanting to be there, saying things about thinking she was “allergic to candles” and “having nightmares of giant Andraste statues to the point of developing a phobia.” It made Sebastian laugh, so he was fine with taking a stroll outside the city, just the two of them and their bows.

The nervous way Hawke was behaving might have made Sebastian think she had developed something of a crush on him, if he didn’t know better. She had her heart set on Fenris still. He was pretty sure. Though she hadn’t mentioned him lately.

It was after she said she didn’t want to practice archery and actually just brought him outside to talk that he got truly nervous. Sebastian had rebuffed a few offers from ladies come to pray (a couple of them rebounding from the same failed relationships they’d come to pray about) but hadn’t had much practice on anyone he knew. Not lately. Not ever, really.

Back in his days of being a prince of Starkhaven, he saw romantic interest in him as reason enough to get tangled in a lady’s bedsheets. Now he would feel true shame for using a woman like that, not to mention the fact that it would be breaking his vows. Hawke deserved love, true as the sky was blue. He just had to turn her down easy.

“I need to confess som—”

“Before you speak, Hawke, I must remind you of my vows as a brother of the Chantry. I cannot pledge the devotion to you that you deserve,” Sebastian said.

Already Hawke looked horrified. “What do you mean?”

“I could never…lie with you. You are beautiful, yes, but I have sworn a vow of chas—”

“Woah! No no no, you’ve got it all wrong, trust me. I mean, Andraste’s hot ass! You know I have…with Fen.” Hawke ran her hands through her hair, thoroughly flustered. “You seriously had me worried. I just need to know if you can keep a secret.”

Sebastian had reeled back at her reaction, but now quirked his head in puzzlement. “What kind of secret?”

“About a mage. An apostate.”

“Anders?”

“No. Not Merrill, either. Someone new. Sort of,” Hawke said.

He furrowed his brow. “What sort of secrets are you asking me to keep? Have they done something? Murdered or harmed anyone?”

“Nothing so dramatic as that. She just escaped the Circle and I need her whereabouts to remain unknown by the templars.”

His brow only wrinkled more before his brows raised in understanding. “Your sister. You know where she is?”

“So you've heard, I take it.”

“Is she safe? How is she doing? Have you heard from her?” Sebastian said, nearly tripping over his words as he hurried to get them out.

“I have been hearing from her. She's with me. Not right now, but at the estate.”

Sebastian exhaled. “Still in Kirkwall.”

Hawke nodded.

“That is risky, Hawke. Shouldn't she be sent to Ferelden? I could help her find a place in Starkhaven, given time. It should be safe for me to return with the Harimanns taken care of. Their Circle is relatively new, you know, since the old one burned down. They wouldn't have the manpower to look for her the way Meredith has been doing.”

“That is a kind offer, Seb, but I want her close. If something happens to her, I don't want to wait days or weeks to hear about it. I want to be there, where I could prevent anything terrible. You lost your family, too. You understand.”

He did. But he also knew that Kirkwall was not a good place to be trying to hide out in. Even Hawke's knowledge of the Undercity wouldn't be enough to keep her sister safe, forever.

“If you didn't want me to help in hiding her, then why have you told me? I received her letter two days ago and it said only that she is safe where she is,” Sebastian said.

“She wants to see you. In person. She'd prefer to go out but as it's not safe yet, you can meet with her at the estate. Bethany could use a friend and she already picked you, so if you can keep discreet and do this for me, it would mean a lot.”

Despite his immediate reaction of extending help, this desire of Hawke's gave Sebastian pause. His offers were genuine; Hawke was a dear friend and she was right in saying he understood the fear that came with the thought of losing ones family. Yet, asking for his company somehow compromised his morals more than getting Bethany out of the city.

To be in contact with known apostates wasn't entirely new, but he kept his distance from Anders and Merrill. To have some form of personal relationship with one who very recently escaped the Circle would be much different from the tense, forced respect he gave Hawke's friends. He was also certain endangering Bethany in any way would earn him the beat down of a lifetime, if Hawke ever knew that he had any fault in it. It was a lot more risk, and he felt a bit queasy at the thought.

She was a talented mage, certainly, and a vision of loveliness unlike any other. But Bethany was still an apostate, and Chantry law dictated that it was illegal. Not to say that the Chantry and its members have always been infallible. Petrice certainly had a great number of flaws.

It wasn't like Bethany seemed dangerous. Merrill practiced blood magic, which horrified Sebastian, and yet he tolerated that as Hawke called her a friend. Anders was possessed, but he trusted Hawke to keep an eye on him and make judgment calls about the danger this spirit of Justice posed. If Hawke could be trusted to judge her own sister without going easy on her, only time would tell, but other eyes couldn't hurt Bethany's case.

An arrangement could be argued, Sebastian thought, for him to spend time with Bethany in order to observe her. He could see how a trained Circle mage adapted back to the world outside of the Circle. Certainly, it would make quite the case to discuss with Elthina if Bethany could reintegrate herself into Kirkwall society without posing a danger. Something like an experiment.

Hawke would never accept his offer as such, so Sebastian offered to spend time with Bethany as if only out of the good of his heart. He fibbed a little, and he hated to deceive Hawke, even slightly, but justified the good it would do to himself again and again. Besides, it wasn't a lie to say he wanted to see Bethany again. She was so charming and lovely, and it would be nice to get to know her outside of the few moments of chaos they shared when the Qunari invaded.

Hawke was delighted by his agreement to see Bethany, but there was still caution in her eyes. They talked about other things as they returned, mostly consisting of conversations about Meredith. Even he agreed she was overstepping her bounds as Knight Commander. It had been three quarters of a year, and still no replacement for the Viscount had been found.

Months ago he'd tried to excuse it, even to Hawke, as the fear of nobles who would ordinarily take any chance for power was apparent and with good reason. Now, even he could see there must have been other reasons for a delay.

To be worried about a mage within the Circle was justified, much as he was loathe to admit it. No arm of the Chantry should be untrustworthy. It made Sebastian doubt in Elthina’s simpler responses to “wait and trust in the Maker.” The Maker worked through people. If they took no call to action, was that really His will?

“Would I be able to see your sister tonight?” Sebastian asked. Speaking with Bethany might take his mind off of such terrible thoughts.

“Soon,” Hawke promised, “but not yet. I want to be sure she has fair warning and put some kind of plan together.”

She kept looking to the side in thought. He understood. Were he in her position, Sebastian wouldn't trust anyone with the location of his sister, even if they were a dear friend. Hawke was the elder sister and had to be protective.

“Keep me informed, then. Whenever you can arrange a meeting, I would be happy to see her,” he said. He gave the brightest smile he could manage.

Hawke's posture seemed more at ease, if only slightly. “Thank you, Seb. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

He disagreed, but nodded and made no argument. Maybe he never had a mage sibling to worry over, but he knew the importance of family. There was much he would do if he could have them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret (now not-so-secret) shame: the reason Hawke does the misspelling of “apostate” bit is cause I said that in my head first before realizing what I’d done wrong. I was never entered in any spelling bees for a reason.


	41. In Your Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for an uncomfortable sexual encounter. It doesn’t get far, but I wouldn’t feel right not warning you guys.
> 
> To skip it:  
>  **START:** “Hawke was blessedly alone for all of eleven and a half seconds.”  
>  **END:** “The other nobles were probably chatting and starting rumors about a tryst on the balcony already.”

Bethany wished she had something in her hands to fiddle with. For now all she could do was wring them nervously together as she walked, trying to make it not so obvious that she was doing so. She had been outside the estate a few times, so far, but usually with her sister and twice with Anders. Never before had her company been someone so handsome and warm. Just hearing her name slip through Sebastian's curved lips made her knees weak.

She was certain Hawke was fully aware of the reason behind asking to see him. Neither she nor her sister had ever been very covert about liking someone. Bethany was blessed by the chance to learn from her sister's fumbling, and knew better how to keep it cool. That didn't mean she wasn't prone to her own bungles.

“I haven't spent much time at the market stalls of Darktown,” Sebastian admitted. “I'm not certain what we would find here.”

“There's about a fifty percent chance whatever you find is illegal or stolen goods,” Bethany said. “And even then there's no guarantee on the quality of it.”

Sebastian tried for a laugh, but his own distaste of the matter was too clear for her to consider it genuine. He was forcing himself to act cheerful and lighten the mood. She wished he wouldn't try so hard. He had been much better over shared meals at the estate, though for most of them Hawke was there to help with the ice breaking.

For someone who had shooed her sister away so fervently, Bethany sure was missing Hawke. Yes, in concept one-on-one time with Sebastian was the goal, but it was so much more difficult in practice! He was so handsome and charming and hearing his voice made her melt a little. If she could take him wherever she pleased, maybe it would be a little easier. For now, they were stuck in Darktown.

Seb even mentioned ideas of taking her outside the city, to calmer parts of the coast where one could just appreciate the view, without complication. Much as she could no longer stand the smell of seawater, Bethany would have loved that fresh air. It would have been a degree of freedom unavailable to her in Kirkwall. But it wasn't like Aveline could just tell the border guards to simply ignore anyone who looked strikingly like the Champion.

“I think I actually recognize some of the jewelry on that stand. Serah Kinsley usually wears that broach to service at the Chantry. And that ring has the seal of the Marsden family,” Sebastian said.

“Ah,” Bethany breathed. “Would you like to...do something about it?” She didn't want to start a scene that would get her noticed, but she couldn't ask him to abandon his morals for her. It was good of him to want to return the stolen items to their owners, frivolous as the trinkets were on the whole.

Sebastian stared for a long moment at the stand, then looked to Bethany. She was only about an inch or two shorter than him, but she felt so much smaller. She could only describe the look in his eyes just then as pity. Pity for her.

“Not just now. I will inform Hawke of them, and see if she can't speak to that man there. With her connections, she might be able to solve this without violence,” he said.

Bethany hated being pitied by him. She was not some weak and defenseless thing, even though she hid herself away. She didn't want him to think less of her for the danger she was under. She was strong and driven, same as her sister. The Hawke blood ran through them both, but he didn't see that. He wouldn't, so long as she had to hide her face with a shoddy brown cloak.

“I know taking you to a restaurant in Hightown is too risky, but perhaps we can visit the Hanged Man? Your sister likes it well enough, and I believe some of what they offer is edible,” Sebastian said with a slight half smile.

“I don't know about that…”

“Certainly it sounds like a stretch, but porridge is at least difficult to ruin, in my experience.”

“Not that. My sister is too well known there. If I were to show my face, I'd be recognized rather quickly. Corff probably even remembers me without the need for connecting me to my sister, and his loyalty is less to certain individuals and more to the coin in someone's pocket. If he thinks he can make even a few silver off of me, he would call for the templars.”

Bethany watched the pity return to his blue eyes. She really did hate that look.

“I apologize, Miss Bethany,” he said. “I feel as if this outing has failed you utterly. I wanted to give you a chance to feel a little freedom and instead I have reminded you of your limits.”

“No, Sebastian, it's alright, really. Just walking with you has been wonderful. I know I can't do much, but it's alright. The company is more important to me than the destination,” she insisted. And then, feeling a little bold in her need to take the sadness from his expression, Bethany leaned up and kissed his cheek.

The startled grin that he wore was worth the risk.

“Let's wander the market a moment longer,” Bethany said. “Afterwards, we can go to the estate for lunch. Bodahn is always preparing something.”

“That is a delightful idea from a delightful woman,” Sebastian said. He extended his hand in a small flourish.

Bethany caught herself giggling, but was unable to stop herself. She certainly found trouble in wiping the grin from her face as her fingers laced with his. They fell into step together, side by side, and studied the various goods for sale as if they had any interest in them. All the while, she just fixated on the feeling of his hand in her own.

✖✖✖✖✖

It was the anniversary of Kirkwall's near takeover, the Arishok’s death, and the declaration of Hawke as the new Champion of the city. So, of course, the noblemen wanted to throw her a party. It seemed to her that it was all they knew how to do.

At least Orana had a little fun beforehand, doing up Hawke’s hair—the length of which now more closely matched Varric's stories—and selecting a dress for the evening. Hawke felt a bit constricted by the garment and hated the way her thighs were starting to chafe, but forced on her smile and went about her business. Mostly just accepting many compliments and fielding a lot of repetitive questions.

“What is your training like?”

“How long have you been practicing archery?”

“What was it like to fight someone so massive?”

“What is your relationship with the woman who stole the Qunari relic?”

“Are you single?”

Bless Aveline for stepping in before Hawke was forced to answer that last one. As Captain of the Guard, she was also invited, along with her plus one. Donnic was chuckling as they approached, listening to his wife grumbling about how nosy everyone was being.

“Still, you must keep up appearances. My excuses can only guard you with fake emergencies for so long,” Aveline said.

“Try overstuffing yourself with shrimp cocktail. Then you might have a real emergency on your hands,” Donnic said.

“I could probably claim one went bad and fake sick,” Hawke agreed. At this point she just wanted to go back to the estate and curl up with her lute.

“Hawke, you would embarrass the host if you did that. The man is head of one of Kirkwall's premier shipping companies. People in trade are not people you want to have on your bad side,” Aveline said.

“It won't be his fault I got ill,” Hawke said.

“But it would be his if you blamed old seafood served at his party,” Aveline said. “Believe me, Hawke, I want to go home, too. But we are guests of honor and we must respect the person who put this together for us. At least for another hour or so.”

“Just come and grab me when you're leaving? Please?”

Aveline agreed, though she told Hawke to go and mingle some more before that time came. It was back to asinine questions for a while. Most she did answer genuinely. There was no harm in letting people know about the details of her fighting style and training, minus a few less appealing details. It was the questions on her personal life that she hated.

One person even had the gall to ask if she and Isabela were a couple. Like Hawke wouldn't protect a friend she wasn't sleeping with! It just showed how little of the person behind the stories the nobles actually knew. Hawke was torn between dispelling rumors and keeping her life a complete unknown.

She escaped to get a drink for a moment off in a far corner. Few people were gathered there and the only one who had attempted to follow when she excused herself got lost in the crowd. Hawke was blessedly alone for all of eleven and a half seconds.

“Tired of the people here talking your ears off?” a lady beside her asked. She had pretty burgundy curls against pinkish skin. Her pale blue eyes were hooded, looking down at Hawke as her red lips curved with interest.

Hawke genuinely felt her heart thump up against her chest. “Uhh…” she said.

“Don't worry, I won't tell. It's an agreement, not a criticism. These things bore me. Always the same faces with the same questions. They never have anything new to discuss. Until you, that is. I've heard lots about you, Champion. I admit I have been looking forward to meeting you, but not in a moment where you were already bombarded. I prefer to have someone's full and undivided attention, especially when I hold some admiration for them.”

Hawke gulped. “That makes sense. You do...make quite an impression.”

The woman chuckled, her mouth hiding for a moment behind a white gloved hand. “I hope that was meant as a compliment, serah.”

“It was.” Maker, this stranger was lovely. This wasn't something Hawke had thought to anticipate. She certainly hadn't planned to meet anyone. Not with her heart still longing for Fenris.

But maybe this was a good thing. She never had gotten to the rebound part of grieving. Isabela had—before disappearing—insisted it was necessary for the process.

“So you come to these sorts of parties often?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, though more for my mother than out of my own interest. She thinks I will meet someone if I keep coming, but it's always the same dull people. You, however, are supposedly neither the same nor dull. I welcome the change,” the woman said. Her every word managed to be suggestive.

“I am definitely not the same, but I make no promises on being dull or not. Once you've heard one of my jokes numerous times, you may question that,” Hawke said.

“That you joke at all is an improvement on these fools.” The woman swallowed the rest of the champagne in her glass, then put it aside to take Hawke's hand. “Come with me.”

Hawke didn't even stop to think. She followed suit, downing her own drink and falling in step with the mystery woman as she was lead through a couple of back rooms where more quiet, intellectual conversations were taking place. Probably discussions of business deals and marriage arrangements between wealthy families, as far as Hawke could guess. What else did nobles even care about?

Before she knew it, Hawke was being greeted by the night air. The woman had brought her out on a quiet balcony. It was a pretty view, looking over a majority of Hightown. Only a few windows flickered with soft light from lanterns or fireplaces. The rest were dark as the people of Kirkwall slept.

“Wow,” Hawke said. “This beats the view from my house.”

“I'm sure you realized from the climb up those many steps, but this estate is one of those on the highest elevations of Hightown. It's my favorite of the places to go for a party, just for this spot. It's beautiful and gives us plenty of privacy.”

“What would we need privacy for?” Hawke asked, playing coy.

“Whatever you'd like, Champion. Conversation, dancing, touching, kissing…”

The drink Hawke had was rushing to her head. It must have been stronger than she thought, not like the watered down drinks at the Hanged Man. It was a sensation she wasn't quite used to going from zero to a hundred in the span of minutes. And she kind of liked riding this buzz.

“I'm not much in the mood for talking,” Hawke said, lips curling, “and I'm not much of a dancer, either.”

The smallest sound of pleased acknowledgement escaped the other woman's lips before Hawke felt her back hit the wall. She was pinned there while the woman forced her tongue into Hawke's mouth. She was rough, but Hawke had no desire or reason to fight it. She allowed the woman to suck and bite at her neck, surprised at herself for the soft moans of pleasure she released.

There was no talking, no words. Just hands and tongues and hips moving together. The woman hiked Hawke's skirt up and played with the line of her smalls, teasing and testing Hawke's reactions. She moved her finger over the cloth, pressing against the place where her smalls had become wet. Hawke leaned into the woman's fingers, teeth pulling at the woman's lower lip.

It felt nice, yes, but it was all happening so fast. Hawke's senses were overwhelmed with this desperate need to do something. Part of her was begging to let the woman finish so she could come, releasing tensions she hadn't been so acutely aware of in a while. The rest wanted to stop.

She wasn't really sure why, but she needed to _stop._ So much so that realizing this overpowered any thought of continuing.

Hawke pushed the woman away, an uncomfortable sensation under her skirts as the woman’s hand was wrenched from her body. Hawke shook in place, not moving from the wall. She was confused, anxious, and somehow still slightly aroused. But all she wanted now was to leave the situation entirely.

“What's wrong?” the woman asked. Her tone was not the gentle and understanding sort Hawke was hoping for. Honestly, it was accusatory.

“I just don't think I can do this. Not...here. Not now,” Hawke said. “I'm sorry.”

The woman's nostrils flared. “You should be. Leading me on as you did only to toss me away when you've had your fun?”

“That isn't w—”

“Oh please. You're a prudish little dog lord who got lucky and won an important fight. The Amell name already meant nothing thanks to your uncle, and the Hawke name somehow meant even less. You were never one of us, anyway. I should be grateful you stopped me from getting involved with someone so below my station.”

She stomped off in a huff, removing the now soiled glove on her hand. Hawke was breathless, still shaking—and not from the cold. Leaving was not only an option at that point. It was needed.

The other nobles were probably chatting and starting rumors about a tryst on the balcony already. Going the way she came and exiting the party normally was not an option. Hawke found a sturdy-looking vine made her way down from there. It was a bit difficult in the fine clothes she wore for the night, but she managed to slide to the ground without falling on her ass. Something she counted as a success when she was also quite tipsy.

The encounter still hadn't left her mind, and her head was still spinning from the booze. Aveline would surely be upset about her absconding into the night. Maybe going somewhere less obvious was smart.

Of course, Hawke only had this thought after her feet were already bringing her well on her way to Fenris’ place. She could tell him about her troubles and stay there for the night. She felt safe with him in a way she didn't feel with anyone else. In a way she probably shouldn't, given the way he broke her heart. But the instinct to curl into his arms remained.

She stopped before his door, further contemplating the idea. He hadn't handled one kiss Anders had sprung on her very well. She couldn't imagine he'd handle a mystery noblewoman forcing herself on Hawke any better. Not to mention they still hadn't spoken about their own relationship in over a year.

She trusted him, yes, and held him dearly in her heart. But they didn't have the sort of friendship where she could go and tell him about these sorts of things. Not to mention, she felt a little dirty for even going onto that balcony.

Maybe it wasn't her fault, but there was something about the encounter she couldn't shake. It made her a little nauseous. A lot nauseous, actually. That may have also been the alcohol coming back.

Hawke hurried home. She didn't look back, not to the party or Fenris’ door, simply scurrying her way to the door and trying to get to a safe place to puke.

Bodahn ended up holding her hair and cleaning up the mess left behind before declaring her sick. If that was true or if it was just a mess of alcohol and anxiety in her gut, she didn't know for sure. But Voids if she wasn't just going with it. If nothing else, she already had an excuse for Aveline, as well as hiding out in her house for a couple of days.

Bethany was there for her when she started to cry. At this point she wasn’t sure which thing (or combination of things) had caused the tears to flood out of her. All she knew was she felt to ashamed to speak, too tired to think of a lie, and too pained to be alone. So she let her sister stroke her hair, though hated listening to each time Bethany tried to prod for answers.

Of course she wanted to do something. That was what the Hawke family did when someone was in distress; they acted. This time, Bethany would have to sit and wait while her sister let out the tears. She would never know what happened that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, unfortunately this is gonna be the start of the hiatus. I’m hoping this will only last a month or two.
> 
> In the meantime, you can check out my friend Erik’s fic series “The Way of the Story” [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/263653) and/or join in on the accompanying Discord server [here](https://discord.gg/4xjhgEQ). Even if you don’t read his fic, it’s meant to be a good place to meet other Dragon Age fans!
> 
> Let me know if you’d be interested in a discord server for my fic, too!


	42. The Storm Makes Its Presence Known

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! It's been a bit, huh?
> 
> Life has been a bit busy with my boyfriend visiting a couple weeks ago and an actual semi-regular job that I have, so writing has fallen a bit more behind than it already had. But, I did have a few chapters in the works/done as backlog, so here's an update literally because I felt bad!
> 
> I'm gonna see about returning to a regular update schedule at least for a bit, and until then I hope you enjoy this one!

“Come quick,” they said. “Chaos in the square!” they said. “We need the Champion,” they said.

Hawke rolled her eyes, thinking of every demand and need and petty little desire the people of Kirkwall have had for her over the years. She was no part of the local government, no figure with any true authority, but people listened to her. In fact, everyone did. Even Meredith and Orsino had to back off when she insisted their bickering was too much. Which explained why she’d been called on that very day.

Orsino, his heart in the right place, kept holding informal rallies to spread dissent amongst the noblemen of Kirkwall. He wanted Meredith out. So did anyone with half a brain, but this didn’t seem to be leading to real action. Not without another voice of actual power to speak up. Like Elthina, the ever tardy Grand Cleric.

“Knight Commander Meredith has stopped every effort made to replace Viscount Dumar. Her corruption is clearly evident to anyone in this city, and the citizens must no longer turn a blind eye towards the issue. You may fear or hate mages. You may even agree with the stances her templars have taken under her command. But there should be a separate governing body from the power of the Chantry!” Orsino said.

The crowd before him alternated between affirming nods and uncomfortable shifting. No one wanted this to be a mage/templar issue. Unseating Meredith was easier to consider as an issue of government and power. Somehow, that was simpler. Which went to show just how deep the issue of mage rights went within people's hearts and lives.

Hawke couldn't interrupt; not because of hesitance, but because someone else was already in the process of doing just that. Meredith shoved through the crowd and stood tall, blue eyes squinting in a heated glare.

“Return to your homes! This farce is over!” she declared. The way her teeth snapped together in her jaw made her look like a wild dog.

“Wait just a moment,” Orsino said. He hadn't lost his crowd yet, though a few inched away from Meredith in their fear. “These people have a right to their voice. I believe there are those within the crowd that disagree with your actions, of late. Or does the voice of the people not matter to a tyrant?”

By definition, it wouldn't. But Hawke kept that comment to herself. She used to not have the skill of holding her tongue. The years had changed so much. And yet, so little…

Orsino’s eyes had been searching the crowd for someone who would be willing to speak out against Meredith, and of course, he found Hawke. “Champion! What say you?”

“Surely nothing to cause such chaos as you attempt to sew, First Enchanter,” Meredith said through grit teeth. She said it in a way that made Hawke believe she wasn't so certain of her own words, however.

“While I'm not sure about the method, Orsino raises a valid point. The city needs a Viscount. One whose attention is focused solely on Kirkwall and her people. Your attention is divided by your control of the templars. Even if the delay in finding a replacement for the late Viscount Dumar is not, in fact, a product of your interference, it is concerning. Your interests are compromised and your focus is limited. How can the city stand proud and strong with leadership that is lacking so?”

Hawke had been having an out of body experience for the past three years, given the way she felt. She barely even recognized the words from her own mouth. She sounded like a proper diplomat. Where was fun Hawke? Where was the Hawke that had to crack a joke to survive a serious moment?

If this was growing up, she didn't like it.

“So you side with one who advocates for treason?” Meredith said.

“No,” Hawke said slowly, “I side with Kirkwall and her people. It isn't treason to point out that the past years have been unorthodox.”

“Perhaps that is exactly what Kirkwall needed in it's leadership: a change of pace. You are one who so likes to challenge the status quo, I would think you might welcome change.”

“Perhaps others, but not like this. It's unstable. And moreover, it has the two of you bickering like children in the streets. How can anyone have confidence in either of you when you hold public shouting matches every week?”

“The people know who has helped them rebuild, Champion. I trust they will remember that going forward,” Meredith said. “Disband this gathering. _Now._ ”

Orsino stepped down from where he had been standing above the rest. The crowd left the scene like rats, scurrying away to avoid the wrath of the cook whose food they stole. In another life, Meredith would have looked good and threatening with a rolling pin held over her head.

Orsino hesitated by Hawke, speaking to her in a quiet aside. “You know I am right. The people of this city deserve to know what happens behind closed doors.”

“I agree, but shouting at all of them will only scare them or anger them. People don't think clearly when they're intimidated,” Hawke said. “It could backfire and make them riot.”

“That might be better than inaction, at this rate,” he said under his breath, just barely loud enough that Hawke could catch it. She watched his shoulders tense as he marched away, hands balled into fists.

Meredith approached moments later, barely allowing a moment for Hawke to breathe. “I thought of all people to understand my methods, surely it would be a woman whose own mother was murdered by a blood mage.”

“The fear I understand, and even the anger. But giving in to those things has only been making things worse,” Hawke said.

“By where you stand, perhaps. But I have seen improvement within the Circle. They are more docile and quiet. Few have expressed dissatisfaction with their standard of living.”

Hakwe knew why. Those who really hated it there didn't speak up to templars. It was a lost cause. Those who were comfortable surely existed, but Hawke doubted they were a majority. The rest—the “docile” ones—were Tranquil.

The quiet ones were dead.

“Pardon me if I don't leap out of my boots in excitement,” Hawke said, only barely stopping her eyes from rolling.

“Careful, Champion,” Meredith said. “Your status does not make you immune. The very moment some mage friend of yours gives into the temptation in their mind, they will be cut down, same as the rest.”

It took every bit of willpower Hawke had left in her body not to take that bait. The threat she had heard before, yes, but not as plainly. The concept that Anders and Merrill could be found, could be caged, was nothing new. A promise to kill them? Meredith was growing ever bolder.

“Let us hope, then, that such violent measures need not be utilized,” an old woman said.

Hawke turned her head to see Grand Cleric Elthina, her hands gently folded in front of her and her gait slow. She had already been an elderly woman when their boat docked in Kirkwall. She was weaker, now, though still capable. Of what, Hawke couldn't say, as she'd never seen Elthina lift an actual finger amidst the chaos, but surely her job made her do something.

“Let us remember that Hawke's allies have been a great help to the city, and have been granted unofficial pardons so long as they continue their good work,” Elthina commented.

That such a thing was even possible struck Hawke as odd. She hadn't been offered that with her sister, nor did noble children get the same chance. The only reason for it that Hawke could see was to feel as if their power was still secure. It had been years and no one had even found Anders’ hideout.

“They are still apostates. They still pose danger—”

“And they are being looked after by Hawke. We have had this discussion many times over, Meredith, and I tire of the repetition. Go back to the Gallows and calm down. Squabbling like a child demeans us all,” Elthina said.

It was the only word that Meredith would fully obey. The Grand Cleric also directed the other templars in the area to see that Orsino made it back to the Circle without issue. Even the First Enchanter was held under lock and key.

“Thank you for stepping in, Champion. If you had not arrived when you did, well…” Elthina let her words hang in the air.

“No offense, Grand Cleric, but isn't there more you can do? Orsino is angry but not without reason. And Meredith—”

“Please, Champion, there is no need to lecture me on what goes on in my city. I know as well as you that this issue persists. But we cannot solve it today.”

“Then when?”

“With the Maker’s blessing, soon. I must attend to business in the Gallows. I ought to speak with Orsino further about his grievances. And Meredith about conduct,” Elthina said, starting away before Hawke could get another word in.

But Hawke was not letting her have the last word. “Is that all?” she said, a cold laugh in her throat.

Elthina did not even look back, though the twitch in her posture showed she had heard.

Hawke was mad. Not furious, not now. She was too tired to feel much more than a soft seething. Days and days she spent breaking apart fights, stepping in when templars were too rough just outside the Gallows, finding traces of blood magic spread in secret corners of the city. She would by no means say the threat was even, but there was pressure on her from both ends. She spent so much time picking up the pieces of various disasters that she couldn't remember the last time she had a day without crisis.

Today was already spoiled, in that regard. She needed a vacation. Tallis’ little escapade in Chateaux Haine was more a job than a proper break. Even if she did get to wear a pretty outfit and sip expensive wine. That was over a year ago now, though, and nothing had improved. Not personally, and not for Kirkwall.

Hawke needed a break, but as that was out of the question, she would settle for a drink. Varric's door was always open to her, no matter the day. She hadn't gotten the time to take advantage of that fact in recent months, but now seemed like a good time to do just that.

The Hanged Man never stopped being a refuge. The people who had been regulars before rarely treated her differently. Any who initially tried were asked not to until the message sank in. Champion of Kirkwall was not a title she was gifted so much as it was thrust upon her. It meant nothing official, but everyone still looked to her. Sometimes Hawke missed just being the best damn smuggler in town.

She stopped first at the bar, waving Corff over to her to get some of the better ale. He didn't get in much, but with the way Hawke brought in customers, he made enough that he got small special batches just for her and her friends. They had a codeword for it and everything.

It took Hawke a moment to notice the woman drinking on the far end, a new tattoo on her forearm and a nearly empty mug in her hand. Honestly, Hawke had trouble recognizing Isabela. She was wearing much darker clothes in a different style, with a full hat on her head and black pigment on her eyelids.

“I knew I'd see you eventually, but I didn't think you'd have changed so much. Do something with your hair?” Hawke said, sauntering over.

“They're called braids. A woman in Rivain did them for me,” she said. Most of her locks were still left to fall free on her neck and back, but a layer of woven together braids, looking something like a net, decorated Isabela’s head. There were small copper beads where the pieces met.

“As far as Rivain, then?” Hawke said.

“What?”

“You went as far as Rivain. We had no idea if you'd escaped to sea and just drowned or gone to Orlais to seduce a wealthy person and live comfortably the rest of your life.”

Isabela laughed. “Please, I'd be bored to tears by a rich Orlesian. Do you even know me?”

“You never wrote,” Hawke said. “Never made an attempt, never—”

“I did. Make an attempt, that is,” Isabela said. She squirmed in her chair, having difficulties meeting Hawke's eyes. “For you. For Varric. For...Merrill. I knew I owed you all that much. But I'm not normally brave like you are. I still can't believe I went back with the book. And you know Castillon is still after my hide.”

“I'm aware,” Hawke said. “But you know that we would still protect you.”

“And maybe that is exactly what I feared.”

Hawke stared.

“Do you know what it feels like to watch someone you care for almost give their life to save yours? To realize that the same could happen to others near or around you?” Isabela said, her head ducked and her voice low. She was rarely… No, she was _never_ this earnest.

And then Hawke's eyes wandered back down, landing on Isabela's arm. Landing where decently fresh, black ink had been placed with the point of a needle. It was a pattern, and one with which Hawke was very familiar.

“You're not just talking about my fight with the Arishok, are you?” Hawke said. She sat down beside Isabela properly.

“No, I'm not,” Isabela replied. She followed Hawke's gaze and rolled her sleeves back down. “I was very drunk. Don't tell her. I know that valla-something is important to her and she might not like me copying it.”

“I won't. But does she even know you're back? Varric would let me know when he heard of sightings of you but…”

“No. I insisted to the nosey little dwarf that I ought to speak to Merrill for myself. I don't think I could ever apologize the way she deserves. I'm terrible at apologies to begin with and her doe eyes make me nervous.”

“Huh,” Hawke said. “I would have thought that impossible.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, dear Hawke. And some yet that you never shall.”

Corff finally placed Hawke's ale on the table, not bothering to be gentle and letting some of the foam slosh over the top of the glass.

“I’m gonna go see Varric. Want to make it a party?” Hawke offered, taking her drink.

“Normally, you know I'd love to, but not today. I've plans to make and if I celebrate my return with you two I will never be able to think. But we had better be partying for me at some point, you hear me?”

Hawke smiled. “Welcome back, Iz.”

Isabela put a finger on the tip of her captain’s hat and nodded, tipping it slightly before righting it again. She did just look right with that thing adorning her head. The woman was made to sail.

And Hawke was made for...something. For now, she felt more made for complaining. It wasn't really a skill, but Hawke was talented at it nevertheless.

Isabela had failed to warn Hawke that Varric already had company. Anders was standing there, looking more at ease than Hawke had seen him in the past year or so. Actually, she had barely seen him in the past year at all. That he was still standing at all was a relief. Though she found her heart unsettled by the grays in his hair and the bags beneath his eyes.

“...and Nyx just went for it. You wouldn't think just by looking at her that she could carry that blade, but she would swing it like it was nothing. I hear she got it made of meteor rock, which gives it that glow. But anyway, she faces the demon and—”

Anders stopped short and turned when he heard Hawke's foot squeak over a floorboard. He looked ready to fight or bolt, or both. She hadn't seen Anders on this high alert since they first met. He had relaxed for a while, she thought.

“Just me,” Hawke said, giving a little wave. “Finish your story?”

Anders nodded, swallowed, then said, “Nyx killed it. Easily.”

“Not much of an ending, Blondie, but that's alright. I can embellish when I need details. Was this creature in—what did you call it—the Blackmarsh?” Varric said.

“No. Elsewhere, unrelated to the Mother and her plotting,” Anders said.

“I still can’t believe you willingly went into a place like that. I mean, right in the name it sounds awful,” Varric said with a shudder.

“When Grey Warden duties call, you don’t really question the order,” Anders said with a slight smirk. Even just that little curl of Anders’ mouth lifted the weight of worry over Hawke’s heart. “I’d better go, speaking of. Tyr has been managing the clinic long enough on his own.”

“How have you two been?” Hawke asked. She hadn’t exactly seen the mercenary in a while, either.

“Good,” Anders said, “though I don’t kiss and tell.”

Hawke smiled. Yes, the Anders she knew and loved was still there beneath the tired exterior. She just hoped he didn’t allow the stress to kill him.

“Stop by the house for a drink sometime, okay? I could stand to see my second favorite mage more often seeing as my favorite is close enough to steal my favorite outfits sometimes,” Hawke said.

“To be fair, Bethany looks better in the blue ones than you do,” Varric teased.

Hawke feigned a gasp. “Such betrayal, Var-bear. I can’t believe you.”

“Few people who know me can. And with good reason.” Varric waggled his brows, which made Hawke giggle.

Anders slipped out as the other two settled in. Hawke made herself comfortable in one of the plush chairs while Varric went to his own collection of drinks to fix himself one. He still drank the stuff Corff served, but as head of his house, he often had to entertain dwarven guests that were too good for Hanged Man ale. Hawke took advantage of his stash sometimes, but tried not to do so too frequently as not to deplete the whole thing.

“So how is my favorite Champion?” Varric asked, finally sitting down with her.

Hawke groaned. “Sick of that title.”

“I understand. Responsibility is a bitch,” Varric said, raising his glass. “You know I had elite carta members in here just last week complaining that my carpeting wasn’t more plush? Spoiled jerks practically forgot that they’re a part of a criminal organization.”

“Meanwhile Meredith’s completely forgotten what the word ‘accountability’ means. Pretty sure Elthina’s dictionary conveniently has a page missing within the A’s as well. Neither of them will accept responsibility for the state of things. As much as Elthina mentions talking to her—”

“Slow down, Hawke,” Varric said. “You sure you don’t need something stronger?”

“Can’t,” Hawke said. “I’m seeing Gamlen after this and that requires a bit of a clear head.”

“Funny, I would have thought the opposite. Still, can’t disagree on your complaints with the fine leaders of this city. This place is the only true home I know. It may be a garbage pit, but dammit it is _my_ garbage pit. Seeing the idiots in charge run it into the ground kind of kills me a little bit. I hate to say it, but I’ve been tempted to…” Varric sighed. “…to issue a formal complaint.”

“Varric, no! You’re starting to sound like the nobles!”

“I know! I’m losing myself within all this responsibility. I used to be youthful and fun. What’s happened to us, Hawke? Where did we go wrong?”

“We tried to do right,” Hawke said. “Obviously we deserved what was coming for us.”

They clinked their glasses in bitter agreement. Things really sucked; there was no better way of putting it. The people were awful, the politics were worse, and nothing was getting done anymore. A thought came and went in Hawke’s mind: Kirkwall might have been better off under the Qun. She knew that wasn’t really true, but it was hard to see other alternatives at the moment. No one was doing anything about the state of things.

“Short of staging a coup I don’t know what else I can do,” Hawke lamented.

“And that is easier said than done. Normally the Viscount might just have the guard on his side, but Meredith has templars.”

“ _We_ are the ones with the guard,” Hawke pointed out. “Aveline should be back by now, getting settled back in.”

“Ah, yes, the long delayed honeymoon.”

“I wish I could escape to some fancy Orlesian resort for a whole month. I’d take you with me, too.”

“Much as I appreciate the offer, I’m pretty sure the entire city would collapse if the two of us left at the same time. I’m honestly surprised it stayed relatively intact without Aveline.”

“Let’s be honest, it may still crumble beneath our feet.” Hawke put her head in her hands.

Varric reached over to rub her back in sympathy, and the two shared a moment of quiet. There was only so much either of them could do, for themselves or for Kirkwall. And people kept asking for more. It was possible the answers people sought simply laid elsewhere, but they didn’t know where to look. Neither the people of Kirkwall, nor Hawke herself had a clue where the solutions were to be found.

Put simply, things sucked.

✖✖✖✖✖

She left later than intended. Hawke didn’t have far to go, so she didn’t mind the delay. She was sure Gamlen was fine with not being checked on like clockwork, too. It had been more her idea than his, even if he had agreed to it.

Without Bethany, Hawke would have needed the company of someone with her blood. With her, Hawke was reminded of what Gamlen had lost. Either way she would have felt obligated to seek him out. It was just the occasional visit. Sometimes they shared a meal, but that was rare. Neither one wanted it to last long. Hawke was certain Gamlen prefered Bethany, and even those visits were shorter than an hour by her sister’s telling.

Part of it was just to be certain that he was still alive. Not that he was suicidal, no, but he didn’t exactly take care of himself very well. Gamlen was terrible with money and often had to get help so he didn’t land himself in worse and worse situations with his debts. Sometimes Hawke found an excuse to leave a sovereign or two behind. Even if he spent it on brandy, at least that meant he had something in his belly. Besides, she was pretty sure the guilt of spending his niece’s coin made him at least get proper food along with the drinks he planned to imbibe in.

“Wasn’t sure you were coming,” were the first words Gamlen uttered as Hawke opened the door.

“Believe me, it was tempting to just go home,” Hawke muttered. He didn’t hear her, so she plastered on a smile and said, “Nice to see you, too, uncle.”

He snorted. “I may not have ears working well enough to understand you when you grumble things to yourself, but no one says things beneath their breath that are flattering. Otherwise, they’d just let the other person hear it.”

“And who do you think I learned that trick from?” Hawke said.

Gamlen mumbled something, as if to prove her point. “Well, are you staying long enough that you need to sit?” His way of offering her a chair.

“No thanks,” Hawke said. “I’ve got Bethy waiting at home with dinner. Just here to see that you’re in one piece. And you are! How about that.”

Gamlen glared, but went about his business, getting food for himself. The bread he picked out looked stale by a couple of days, and he cut off bits of mold from the cheese he used. Hawke could have set him up nicely here with food and wine and a bed that wasn’t just a glorified cot. But he barely accepted her “accidental” gifts of single gold coins. There was no way he would be alright with having full stores of food being delivered to his door every week.

“You’re in fine health?” Hawke asked.

“Fine enough,” Gamlen said. “I don’t work in the mines, so I haven’t got to worry about black lung.”

“Just let me know if you break an arm gambling. Or someone breaks it for you. Anders can fix it regardless of the cause.”

“I’ll have you know I haven’t gambled in the past three months,” he said, voice nearing a shout. “And I don’t appreciate your accusations.”

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. And you’ve been eating alright?”

Gamlen raised up the bit of bread he’d just torn a piece off with his teeth. Not what Hawke would define as “alright,” but it was a meal. Sort of.

“Okay then. Duty done. I’ll leave you be,” Hawke said. Neither of them enjoyed this. But she felt obligated. And so did he, probably.

Bethany had tried to convince her that he did actually like her company. She had probably attempted the same with Gamlen on her behalf or something. It was pointless, but Hawke knew her sister’s big heart wouldn’t stand for making no attempt at all. So she let Bethany talk and kept going back to see her uncle.

She started towards the door, getting not so much as a goodbye from Gamlen, when her eyes wandered over a paper on the table. There were three words written on the page larger than the rest, scribbled over a number of times so they stood out boldly. **Gem of Keroshek.**

“What’s that?” Hawke wondered aloud.

“None of your business is what it is,” Gamlen said. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“Right, yeah,” Hawke said.

The words still taunted her brain. Curiosity would get the better of her, eventually, but for now she did just want to go back to the estate and eat a hot meal. Bodahn even promised to prepare lamb for the evening. Her feet moved just a little quicker to help while her mouth salivated.


	43. Loved Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again! Lots of weird life stuff going on lately. Lots of it good tho! I have a job lined up and my boyfriend visited me... There will always be kinks to work out, but things are still looking up on the whole.
> 
> Hope you guys have also been doing well! It sure does feel good to be back with you all. Enjoy the chapter!

It had been a few days since Hawke had seen Isabela at the Hanged Man. While she did fully intend to keep her promise and let the lovers reunite in their own time, Hawke did feel like she ought to see how Merrill was doing. Surely Isabela had been to her place by then, right?

Isabela was cowardly, though. She had already stayed away for three years. What was to say that she wouldn't take another few weeks before making herself known to the one person who needed to know most of all?

Merrill had confessed to Hawke that things were more serious between them than either intended. She didn't give specifics, other than simply saying that she broke a promise she made. In comparison to what Isabela put her through, one teeny broken promise deserved immediate forgiveness. Though Hawke did not presume it was actually a small thing Merrill had done.

Which meant the girl needed all the more support. She didn't have many people in Kirkwall. Oh sure, Merrill knew the usual group that came to the Hanged Man, but they were Hawke's, not hers. Things that were purely Merrill's were in short supply, even when it came to people.

Varric, for instance, did look after her closely, but it was more of a favor to Hawke. That he had come to care for her in his own right was unsurprising, but Hawke knew why his habit of checking in had started. It would have continued the same, regardless of how he personally came to feel about the elven girl.

Though Hawke was glad that he truly cared. He was soft at heart, a not-so-well-guarded secret that seemed bothersome to him, at times. If he didn't care, a lot of things would have been easier for him. But Hawke loved him for the way he cared. Her best friend held his arms wide open for most any odd stray off the streets.

It surprised her quite a bit, after musing on this, to hear Varric suppressing shouts of frustration in Merrill's home. Neither had known to expect Hawke, so walking in on something had been a known risk of popping in like this. It was simply what Hawke was interrupting that caught her off guard.

Varric noticed her at the doorway to Merrill's bedchambers, however, and released a heaving sigh. “You try talking some sense into her. Apparently I'm not reaching anyone, today,” Varric declared, throwing his hands up as he walked past Hawke. He grumbled something more as he made his way to the door, and out to the Lowtown Alienage streets.

Hawke raised a brow, and came to stand beside where Merrill sat. “Care to tell me what Grumpy Gus was going on about?”

“Oh, Varric is just concerned. He always is; checking up on me like I need tending to. I remember to feed myself! ...usually. And when I don't it's with good reason!” Merrill said.

“Such as the mirror?” Hawke asked.

Merrill shifted her weight from hip to hip. “Yes. It… I had a dream last night. It was eerie and felt so real. I heard screams and rushed from my bed to the eluvian. There were trapped victims, begging for help. First it was Tamlen. Then Hera. Then this other elven woman but...she had dark hair? Then mixes of I don't know what else. It started to blend faces; it was so terrifying!”

“But it wasn't real?”

Merrill lowered her head sheepishly. “No. It was not real. But it was so vivid I could have sworn when I really woke up that the screams were still there, just faintly. What if someone really is trapped in there, and repairing the eluvian is their only key to freedom? Or—”

“Woah, hey, let's slow down a little, okay?” Hawke said, taking a seat beside Merrill while also taking a hand that had been curled up and pressed to her chest. “I thought that knife was supposed to help?”

“I have tried with the Arulin'holm for many months. First I had to understand its purpose fully, then I had to learn how one wields it. Even then it would not do as I asked. I even spoke with the spirit again—”

“Truly a spirit? Like Justice? Or...a demon?”

“Why are you always so quick to make that judgment? You don't have magic, Hawke.”

“But I have spoken to demons. And I've fought them. They are manipulative. Just be careful, that's all I'm saying.”

Merrill crossed her arms, looking bitterly at the ground. “I am sick of this argument, Hawke. I know you don’t approve, yet you keep helping me.”

“Because I think the goal is noble, even if the way you’re going about it makes me nervous,” Hawke said. She found the same spot on the ground that Merrill was staring at, and joined in the fixation. “You’re right. I don’t have magic. This stuff is beyond me, and I think some of it is even beyond Anders and Bethany. It’s been years and you’re still just you. No demon rattling around in there. I should trust your judgment more.”

Merrill let her arms relax, though kept them crossed. “Yes, you should. Thank you for saying so.”

“I’m sorry about all the worrying. I’m ignorant, what can I say?” She tried to laugh it off, but knew there was more to be said. “And… Meredith hasn’t helped with the concerns. Her threats are becoming more frequent and way more blatant. I need to know that you won’t attract attention. Not just from demons, but from templars.”

Merrill sighed. “I promise, I have it under control. I know how things have been, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“There’s...one other thing,” Hawke started, but let the notion hang in the air.

Merrill watched expectantly for Hawke to just tell her, but when it was clear she was hesitant, Merrill cocked her head. “What is it, Hawke?”

She didn’t seem to know. There was no sign of Isabela having been there and no mention of the pirate from Merrill. Hawke couldn’t tell her. Especially not after narrowly avoiding a real argument. It would only upset Merrill more. She didn’t need that. She needed support and a little TLC.

So Hawke just opened her arms wide and pretended like that was the “one other thing.” Merrill giggled and accepted the hug. Hawke wondered if the little elf had been touched at all since Isabela’s departure. It nagged more at her mind the longer Merrill held on, and the tighter the embrace became.

“Hey,” Hawke said with a grin, “how about we do lunch? Someplace nice. I’m buying!”

Merrill could not agree fast enough to beat her rumbling stomach to the punch. Hawke tried to muffle her snickering, but Merrill just ended up laughing with her.

✖✖✖✖✖

When Bethany entered the estate, she tossed a pear up in the air before expertly catching it in one hand. She hadn’t even been watching its descent. Sandal applauded with genuine enthusiasm, and Hawke joined with modest claps. Bethany curtseyed, careful not to tip the basket that was hung on the crook of her elbow.

“Had a good day in the market?” Hawke said with a knowing grin.

Bethany returned the smile with one of her own, taking a big bite out of the fruit in her hand. She chewed and swallowed before saying, “Sebastian is such a lovely man. Showered me with compliments and got this for my hair.”

She turned a little and used her hand to frame the flower that hung on her ear by the stem. Since she’d shortened her hair into a pixie cut, there wasn’t much of her dark locks to bury it into, but it managed to hold up well enough. It was freshly cut, after all.

“And brought you home before curfew,” Hawke teased. “Such a nice young man. But I must ask after his intentions with you.”

Bethany swatted at her sister. “You wouldn’t dare. You and I both know he’s sworn vows to Andraste, and I’m not planning on making him break those. I like his company. That’s enough for me.”

Hawke didn’t quite believe her sister, partially because of how she still blushed as she spoke of vows. She wasn’t about to pry and make Bethany admit to her yearnings, however. First of all, that was private. Second, it was her sister. She didn’t need to hear that from sweet little Bethy.

“He took me around the jewelry stalls and kept asking my opinion on different pieces,” Bethany said. “I think he was trying to figure out what I like so he can get me something later. I’ll have to act surprised when he does. ...if he does.”

“He will,” Hawke said. “Sebastian was quite the ladies man before the Chantry slapped a chastity belt on him. The man knows how to court and woo whomever he desires.”

“That just depends on if he… If he likes me. Sometimes the way he talks I still think he sees your little sister.”

“You are my little sister.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Bethany said, shaking her head. “I’m grown and I’m my own person. I don’t want him to mistake these outings as him keeping an eye on me for you.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think of them like that. Not with the way he asks after you. Believe me, Seb is into you for you. You’ve charmed him, Bethy. Now you get to enjoy the gifts he attempts to lavish you with.” Hawke waggled her brows.

Bethany laughed. “Regardless, it was really a nice day out. Tense as things are, Kirkwall has recovered from the attack. Only one big piece is left to complete the rebuilding.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. I’m considering going door to door and begging nobles to step up. But they’re terrified of Meredith or they support her… In a few cases, it’s both.”

“I’d help in the efforts, if I could,” Bethany said.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Just knowing that you’ve been able to walk safely around Hightown a few times with no one taking notice is enough of a gift. I won’t have you painting a more visible target on your back.”

Meredith already had enough threats against Anders and Merrill to use. If she got a hold of Bethany, used her as a pawn and leverage against Hawke, there wouldn’t be much left to do. Hawke would have to be at her beck and call to keep Bethany alive and non-tranquil. If she even got the luxury of such an offer.

No, Meredith was vicious and cruel, but she wasn’t stupid. If Bethany were harmed before Hawke knew the templars had her, there would be no stopping Hawke from fighting back. It wasn’t the only person Hawke had left in her life, but it would be enough to make her break. Not even the powermad would want to pick a fight with the woman who walked away from a duel to the death with the Arishok.

“He picked a really nice flower for you,” Hawke said, brushing stray strands of hair from Bethany’s forehead. “Brings out your eyes.”

“He tried to find a color that matched the robes I wore in the Circle. He said he’d never seen someone who truly looked good in those things, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of me in them.” Bethany looked like she could float up in the clouds.

Hawke just smiled. Maybe on another day she’d fake gagging or roll her eyes, just to mock her sister a little more. But honestly? She was just happy for Bethany. She deserved to look like that, and to have someone treating her with love and affection. Sebastian had been good to her, and the two were a good match. Hawke just wanted Bethany to have a proper life, love and all.

They shared dinner, letting Bodahn take the rest of the pears that Bethany brought home in her basket to make a pie. It was freshly baked and ready for dessert that same night. Hawke retired to her room after having two slices of it, her belly so full she felt like she was staggering up the staircase.

She hustled a little more when she heard Hermes barking and growling. Sometimes he did that at bugs, or even his own shadow, but it was still the kind of noise he only made when he felt the need to raise the alarm. That made it worth checking out, even if it did turn out to be nothing.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Hawke asked, ruffling his ears.

Hermes was low to the ground, growling and glaring at the armoire in the corner of her room. Normally it just housed jackets, robes, and bits of armor, but now there was something in there, bumping against the doors and sides. Hawke might have thought it was some kind of rodent, but the movement required something much larger than a rat or raccoon.

“Ooh, good boy! You caught a burglar!” Hawke cheered, giving him more pats on the head. “Alright, come out. I know you’re there.”

“P-please… Don’t let him eat me!” the burglar begged, voice muffled within his hiding place.

“Hermes, down,” Hawke said. Immediately, though with a quick glance to Hawke as he did it, Hermes sat on his hind legs, then laid all the way down. His neck was still tense with attention, but he was mostly at ease. “He will only hurt you if I tell him to, and mabari are very smart dogs. Come on out.”

The man was sheepish as he opened the doors and slid out from between her jackets. “W-would you believe if I said this was all a big misunderstanding?”

“Not in the slightest. But if you go now and promise to take up some honest work instead of continuing to rob people, I won’t turn you in to the guard. And I know the Captain personally. I could ask her to give you the worst punishments imaginable.”

The burglar swallowed hard, then nodded sharply. “Never again,” he swore, then ran out with his tail between his legs.

Hawke didn’t actually expect him to stick to it, but she felt bad just turning him in. “Bodahn!” she called down, “give our unexpected guest a bit of pie for his trouble!”

Most of the criminal activity in Kirkwall was due to hunger, after all. Just because she’d had the luck of landing in a mansion with servants and money to spare didn’t mean the problems of other people went away. It was another reason that Meredith needed replacing. She had made so many policies around the templars and mages, but no efforts to shelter or feed the poor. For one who proclaimed deep love of her city, she certainly left many of the people within it to rot.

Thoughts for another day. She wasn’t going to rescue Kirkwall in one night. Besides, Hermes had done an excellent job guarding the estate, and deserved a biscuit for his troubles.

✖✖✖✖✖

“It’s distinguished,” Tyr argued, brushing back the silvery strands within the rest of Anders’ blonde ones. “You’ve never looked more handsome.”

Anders didn’t respond, but he didn’t push Tyr away, either. He was hungry for the contact, and for more besides. It had been so long since they last had the chance to be together. Every night left Anders so tired he fell asleep before Tyr could even get the notion of bedding him into his head. Which didn’t take long, so that only proved how exhausted Anders was.

The years had not been kind to the duo. Anders in particular now had permanent bags beneath his eyes and sported a large amount of gray hairs, streaking his blonde and skirting the edges of his hairline. He was only thankful it hadn't also started to fall out. Looking like an older man was one thing, but looking decrepit was not an option. Anders wouldn't have it.

Tyr looked tired as well, but his look was simply stress and lack of sleep. He didn't have the added troubles of a shared body. Justice gave energy in magic, but the coexistence was starting to take more from Anders than it offered in help. Or so went the theory. In earnest, no one knew why he was aging the way he was.

Elevated anxieties were one thing, but he was so much more heavily afflicted by it than those he worked with. Perhaps it was due in part to the fact that he had the Mage Rebellion resting on his bony shoulders, with only a handful of people left to aid in carrying the burden. The rest of Anders’ theory about Justice was that by not completing the intended mission and getting mages the freedom they deserved, the union took more of a toll on him as if there really had been some deal struck.

But that was the work of demons. As much as he feared that Justice was morphed to Vengeance, he didn't seem like any of the demons Anders had encountered in the past. Even now.

“How I look is the least of my worries,” Anders said, though he didn't push Tyr away. He wanted to be touched, longed for it despite the part of himself that said he was losing focus. If he didn't make time for love, he would surely lose his mind. Or at least, what was left of it.

“You're concerned about the mage rebellion,” Tyr said. It wasn't a question. He didn't even need to say it out loud but for the desire to address the high dragon in the room.

“What's left of it. It was sparse when we made the effort to free Hawke's sister. Now we've barely any help. The network of information consists of one person with unreliable sources. Many tunnels have been guarded or filled. Mages are dying and being made Tranquil at a heightened rate and the people of Kirkwall don't even care. I know Orsino has been returned to the Circle when he steps out to challenge Meredith only to be bloodied and bruised. I've seen him. They're usually more clever about hiding their beatings, but the templars are growing bold. No one will stop them, why should they stop themselves?”

“You never told me about Orsino,” Tyr noted.

“Because it doesn't do us any good. They would cover up his injuries with stories, and the people would accept it just to return to their 'peacetime!’ There is a war brewing in their own backyard and they are blind to it!”

“What more can be done? Perhaps if we send word to the Divine of the corruption here we can go over Elthina’s head.”

“The Divine?” Anders scoffed. “She will be just as callous as Elthina. She wouldn't challenge Meredith at all.”

“Rumors say that she wants to bring change to the Chantry. She's unpopular among many for it. Still, she has the power. She could actually do something.”

“No. She won't. It's up to me.” Anders stared at the floor.

“...us?” Tyr murmured a slight correction.

There was a noise by the door. Anders’ hand twitched before he reached for his staff defensively. He pointed it at the intruder, only to find Bethany, standing there with a basket of food.

“B-Bodahn made too much, as usual,” she said through nervous chuckles. It was her usual excuse to bring them food, making sure they were fed. Bethany quietly excused the intrusion and brought the meal inside, setting it on the table. Under a cloth, a jar of fresh honey could be seen.

“I couldn't help but overhear a bit. You want to enlist the aid of the Divine?” Bethany said. “I could—”

“No,” Anders said, his voice sharp and clipped. “You won't do anything. You aren't needed. Go home.”

“I'm a mage, too, Anders. I want to help. If I can do an—”

Anders interrupted again, “I won't have you or your sister put in harm's way! Now go home!”

“But—”

“I said _go._ ”

Bethany frowned, clenching her fists and her jaw before turning on her heel and stalking away. It was unfair of him, Anders knew this, but he wouldn't see any more of the people he cared for endangered. Tyr was different. Tyr could handle himself. Anyone else was too much.

“I'm not sure we should be so quick to turn away help,” Tyr said. “If we are alone, we can only do so much.”

“I know,” Anders breathed. “I may need Hawke one last time. But I won't involve her directly anymore.”

Tyr rose an eyebrow. “You have a plan?”

Anders nodded. His face had never been more grim. He went to a pile of books, shifting them until he could easily pick up one at the very bottom.

“I'm going to read for a bit. Feel free to eat without me,” Anders said, already walking back towards their makeshift bedroom in the clinic.

Tyr watched him go for a long moment. He could have grabbed him and sat him down to eat by force, but he didn't. Anders needed time alone. Tyr did, however, lift the jar of honey from the basket. He never liked his tea sweet, but Anders loved it.

With a healthy helping of honey in one of two cups, Tyr prepared a fire and a kettle.


	44. A Murder of Crows

Aveline had never been a person one would describe as bubbly, but Maker, if her joy wasn't infectious. A vacation in Orlais did her some serious good. It had been her official honeymoon, two years or so after the actual marriage. Which meant it was a long time coming. (Hawke of course made a horrible joke with Isabela using that exact phrasing. It was not to be repeated to any of the guard.)

The pampering didn't need to be over, Hawke decided, and had Bodahn whip up a nice lunch to go. She had already told Aveline they had to talk once she returned, and scheduled a lunch together to catch up. It only made sense for Hawke to treat her friend. It also served—though Hawke would never admit it—as a nice bribe to loosen Aveline’s lips and get some juicy details regarding the vacation.

The redheaded captain of the guard had returned much more freckled than Hawke remembered. More time in the sun than in an office did that to her, apparently. She looked closer to the way she did when the two first met, in that sense. Everything else was so different. There were subtle lines of aging in places on her face, and her hair was shorn short while she was away. The guard uniform was shiny as ever, and the most familiar sight about Aveline, those days. Aside from her eyes, that was.

“I hear I'm not the only one back in town,” Aveline said after greetings and a hug.

“So you heard about Isabela?”

“More like I was warned about her. Guardsman Lette believes she is a threat to our 'fine city.’ He was not subtle about what he believes we should do with her,” Aveline said.

“Chuck her in a long boat ‘til she's sober?” Hawke only got a confused look in response. “It’s part of a sea shanty. What do we do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?” She sang that last bit.

“More like toss her in a stockade and make an example,” Aveline said.

“Ooh, that could be another verse. Nice job!”

Aveline sighed, but she was smiling. Hawke's antics rarely failed to charm those who knew her well. It was endearing, in a word.

“Do you think she's safe?” Aveline asked.

“In terms of being a threat? Yeah. She has learned what cost stealing big important things like that can have to her freedom. If nothing else, that will motivate her to stay out of most trouble. As far as whether that Castillon is still after her, I don't know. He knows the Tome of Koslun is back with the Qunari, surely. Question is if he wants to take it out on her or if he realized that was too big a treasure to steal.”

Aveline laughed. “If I've learned one thing as a guard, it's that men like that never think there's something too big for them. Not even their massive egos.” She took a bite of one of the sandwiches Hawke brought. “But you don't want to talk about Isabela all day, surely.”

“Regardless what she believes, I do not. I wanted to know about the honeymoon, actually,” Hawke said. She hoped the literal spread Bodahn used was enough to butter her up.

“It was lovely, and I surely needed it. Donnic is incredible in every way. More than that, you aren't hearing about.”

“Oh come on! Not even details of romantic dinners? The places he took you? I don't even need the raunchy stuff, just a little something.”

Aveline grinned. How she was enjoying having the upper hand. “He is a perfect gentleman. And, as I said, incredible.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Hawke sighed. “I just want to live vicariously through you, a bit.”

Aveline's expression soured, slightly. “I know what happened at that party, Hawke. The noblewoman tried to spin her tale for the rest of the people there, but I know you and I know what they can be like. I didn't want to mention it before but I can tell you now that she has been arrested, recently. Petty charges, she will get off easy due to her status I'm sure. But I couldn't help but feel a bit victorious for getting back at her rotten little self.”

“It's okay, Aveline. It was years ago, now. But I appreciate you telling me, anyway,” Hawke said. She hadn't been lucky enough to simply forget that whole terrible evening.

“Her reputation will be smeared, at least,” Aveline said. It was the last she mentioned of the subject. “Anything new with you?”

“Other than the whole of Kirkwall seeming to rest on my shoulders? No, not really. I learned a new song on the lute from Orana, but not much else has changed. Things seem calm, but tense, too. Which just makes me worry there’s more trouble on its way.”

“There is always trouble, Hawke. We can only do our best to fight back against it,” Aveline said.

“Yeah,” Hawke said, “I know.”

The rest of their chat was kept as light as possible, avoiding more dour subjects. It wasn't like anything could be done that very instant to get rid of Meredith, who Aveline mentioned was causing the guard more trouble as well. The lack of a proper Viscount meant the lack of someone to back up Aveline's word. Meredith was unreliable for guard work, making the best she had to turn to Senechal Bran, of all people.

As light as possible. It was more difficult than either of them wanted it to be to have a comfortable conversation. In turmoil, everything turned back to some way in which Kirkwall was failing its people, from the Ferelden refugees, still hanging in there, to the mages. Even pro-Circle Aveline hated the level of cruelty Meredith inspired.

“Templars were meant to serve men,” Hawke said, “not rule over them.” Turning the chant on Meredith would probably be seen as blasphemy as well as treason. It was safe to say it around Aveline, though.

“You're right about that. I'm not so sure that Meredith believes the same.”

“I'm certain she doesn't.”

✖✖✖✖✖

It was nice that the Viscount's Keep had been repaired over the last three years, but Hawke was still getting used to the look of things. In some ways, she wished they'd left some of the damage alone; as a reminder. The scorched bits of stone where Orsino launched his attack. The chipped floors and walls that saw heavy Qunari blades fall upon them. It wasn't that the city needed a reminder, but that Hawke herself did. Something to make it feel real.

This felt like taking an old canvas and painting over it with white again.

Hawke could still see bits of patchwork repair, however. The stones had been scrubbed until they shined, but cleaning alone couldn't fill cracks and splits in the pavement. They'd slapped in some kind of clay for those bits. The color was similar enough that, to the untrained eye, it probably looked all the same. But Hawke could see each little bit; just a little too yellow to pass.

At the bottom of the steps, Hawke was wrenched from her thoughts. A strong Antivan accent greeted her, and for a moment she almost shooed the man away, mistaking him for Vincenzo. But to actually look at the stranger approaching, this was not some trader with illegitimate children in Maker knows how many nations.

He was both more and less refined; carrying himself in the sort of manner that one who actually earned respect would but with a beard that was a bit too scraggly and a look in his eyes like danger. He had two men with him, standing as a sort of armed guard. They wore good Antivan leathers over fine clothes, only outclassed by the clear man in charge.

“Ah, well, I had hoped to go and meet with the captain of the guard, but this may be even better. You must be the Champion, no?” the man asked.

“I am. Call me Hawke. Is there something I can do for you?” Oh sure, she was sick of helping Kirkwall, but this guy wasn't from around here. Whatever he was looking for was bound to be interesting.

“I was hoping so, yes. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nuncio Caldera Lansa, a noble from the beautiful country of Antiva. I normally only leave the country on business, but this time that is not the case. We seek a man who has murdered many, many people. We had him in our captivity when he escaped, so you can see our concern. It is our duty to see that he face a swift justice,” Nuncio said.

“So you want me to bring him back to you?” Hawke asked.

“That is unnecessary, and more dangerous for all involved. The only way to end this is through his death, which I say he has more than earned. I would complete the task myself but he has taken refuge among the Dalish. He is an elf, you see.”

“The Dalish don't take any more kindly murder than any of us. Why would they hide him?”

“He is a master manipulator who would endanger even his own kind to ensure his survival.”

The Dalish? Could it be that Merrill’s old clan was still nearby? Since Feynriel had left for Tevinter, she had not heard from them at all. Merrill certainly didn't keep in contact with them, given how they felt about her now, but she had mentioned that it would be odd for a clan to stay in one place longer than they already had, last they saw Marethari.

“Not only that,” Nuncio continued, “but he is very dangerous. He is a trained assassin, you see.”

“That…doesn’t seem like the sort of business a noble such as yourself should be involved in,” Hawke said.

“Exactly the reason I sought the guard’s assistance, and now yours. I followed him out of duty to my country at first, but he has also slaughtered many of my own to keep me from this pursuit. It’s become personal, but I’m afraid I cannot do it alone. The man is a murderer, a thief, and a liar. He must be stopped, Champion. Will you help me, or not?”

Nuncio seemed awfully anxious. Not surprising if he had been chasing a killer all over Antiva that landed him in one of the southernmost settlements of the Free Marches. If not to give this man rest, and not to keep Kirkwall safe, it would at least satisfy Hawke’s curiosity over the sort of man who inspired such a passionate rage to find this assassin.

“I’ll do what I can. I’ve a friend who is— _was_ Dalish. It’s a long story, but I’ve also helped one of their clans. They should allow me access where they wouldn’t with you,” Hawke said.

“Thank you, Champion. We did also get a name. One of the Dalish to look for. Variel. Convince her to let you see him. Apprehend him if you can, kill him if you must. We have a campsite outside of the city. Look for us there when you are done, and bring him to us.”

Hawke nodded. She allowed the men to go, confused that a noble would be willing to camp outside instead of stay in one of the finer inns Hightown had to offer. But no matter. He was right that Aveline would be right for the job. It looked like they were going to see one another again sooner than expected.

✖✖✖✖✖

Merrill understood why she was there. She even understood why Aveline had been there along with Hawke when they came to her place to ask for her help. Once Dalish, always Dalish. She would be good for lending aid to Hawke when they asked about this assassin, and Aveline was good at taking in criminals of all sorts.

But Isabela didn’t seem to have much of a purpose. Oh sure, she told Hawke that she had known an Antivan assassin once upon a time, but not all of them were the same, surely. That country was lousy with killers, according to Isabela, so it wasn’t too surprising that they were on the lookout for one. That didn’t mean that she knew any better than the rest of Hawke’s friends how to handle one.

Or, maybe she did. Hard to say, really, but Merrill still wasn’t happy with Isabela. Oh, they’d had a talk. Isabela had actually given (mostly) proper apologies. It was the way she got down on herself—saying she was a bad person and this was bound to happen, eventually—that really upset Merrill.

Not because it wasn’t believable. This did seem like a pattern of hers. But because it felt like an excuse.

Isabela “couldn’t help it.” She was “bad.” Like she had no control over her leaving, or even her eventual return. That was just crap, excuse the Orlesian.

Merrill let Isabela go ahead with Hawke, while she hung back with Aveline, grumbling every so often about being jealous of the relationship she had with Donnic. “He’s so good to you. I thought I could have that. But I’ve got rotten luck in everything, these days. The eluvian won’t work and I don’t have many friends… Oh, and look at me complaining to you! You don’t need to hear about all of my problems.”

Aveline’s face made it look like she didn’t disagree with that, but she sighed, saying instead, “You should talk to someone about it, though. That’s what’s good about a solid marriage. You have someone to talk to when things are going wrong. The way Isabela is, she never seems like she would be the kind of partner you need. She’s fickle and always wants more. I was amazed she came back at all.”

“Maybe,” Merrill said. Maybe Isabela’s excuses were not as wrong as Merrill would hope. But it didn’t make the apologies feel any more satisfying. “How _do_ you and Donnic do it? Communicate?”

Aveline thinned her lips and thought. It was a long pause before she spoke again. “I’m not sure I’d be the best at describing it. We sort of just...tell each other the truth. How we feel, what upset us, what makes us happy. That’s all there is to it, at the end of the day. I won’t say it’s easy, by any means, but it’s what you need to do. Otherwise you just keep holding in the thing that bothers you and you resent the person.

“There was one day when Donnic… Maker, I don’t even remember what he did anymore, it was such a small thing, but it drove me up a wall. I didn’t say anything because I thought it would just upset him, but that meant the whole day I was just thinking about it. By the time we went home again, I was so mad that I ended up barking at him a bit. He was so shocked, and just apologized. He’d had no idea it bothered me. I felt like an idiot for not saying something sooner.

“I’ve been married before, too. I should have known better, right? But even with Donnic I make these mistakes. You never stop learning how to be better at these sorts of things. The only requirement is trying.”

Aveline didn’t say it, but the way she bit her lip (just slightly on the inside) made it clear what she was thinking. Isabela wouldn’t be willing to try. It was easier to run to the next fling.

Yet, that ever hopeful part of Merrill told her “maybe not.” Maybe the fact that Isabela had practically fallen on her knees in apology was a sign. Maybe if she knew that Merrill still cared for her, even as it hurt, she would put in the effort. Maybe it wasn’t time to give up.

She was still wrestling these thoughts as they reached the Dalish camp. Familiar aravels stood before them, their red sails glimmering under the sunlight. They still felt a little more like home than Kirkwall, even after all these years. But that was the problem. With the Dalish, it wasn’t supposed to be a thing or a place. It was a people. And those?

“Merrill. Why have you come back?” Ineria asked, her eyes narrowed.

“She’s with me,” Hawke said, making herself larger.

Ineria had been working to look past Hawke to glare, but now Hawke’s presence was unavoidable. “Ah, yes. I suppose you’re here for Marethari? Some other favor to ask of us, without anything in return?”

“My apologies. I didn’t realize that the disposal of the Valterral was such a small thing that it didn’t count as helping,” Hawke said. Not the smartest move, pissing them off, but her patience had been worn thin over the years. Everyone knew it. “I’m looking for Variel, actually.”

This only made Ineria more tense. “The second request for her, in recent memory. You wouldn’t happen to know that city elf friend of hers, would you?”

“Not personally, no. But I am looking for him,” Hawke confessed.

Ineria didn’t unclench any of her tight muscles, but she did step aside. “Good. I know we do favors for our own, but personally? I’m not a fan of the attention this one is gathering. Just the other day we had shemlen trying to get to him. I had to point my bow at them before they got the hint and scurried away.”

Hawke waited, raising her brow.

“Please, Ineria?” Merrill said.

Ineria groaned. “Fine, then. Variel is that way. I’m not escorting you over like one of your shem nannies.”

“That’s fine by me,” Hawke said. “ _Mah serana._ ”

Ineria only angered more at the failed attempt at speaking Elven, but she did let them pass. Variel was not too difficult to find, standing alone as she was. She was on the opposite side of the camp, a bit too obvious about standing guard for something. She wasn't dressed like a hunter, but Merrill could tell she was mimicking the way their hunters stood.

“ _Andaran atish’an,_ Variel,” Merrill said, as if to make up for Hawke's poor Elven earlier.

“Merrill?” Variel said, looking at the single elven face, first. “And Hawke? You're… It isn't as you think. They came to look for you, didn't they?”

“If by ‘they’ you mean the Antivans, then yes. I'm curious to see why you are protecting this man if he is as bad and dangerous as they say,” Hawke said.

“He is a killer, as I'm sure they said, but it is not what they would have you believe. Please, just promise me you will speak to him, if you must go. Perhaps you can even help. You have always been capable, Hawke. In a fight, you're a good ally to have,” Variel said.

“They said he's also good at lying,” Hawke said, her hesitance apparent in every facet of her speech.

“So are they. I will let him explain. He is not the only one in danger, but he has made himself a willing target. You will see,” Variel insisted.

Hawke looked back to the others, then to Variel again. She nodded firmly, agreeing to the deal.

If the assassin didn't attack first, Merrill knew, they would not need to attack back. Hawke rarely started fights, even with all the ones she got into. Either people were after her or they were unwilling to listen to reason. That didn't mean, however, that Hawke felt much remorse for the people she'd fought.

Or even those they'd killed. No one liked to talk about it, but they had blood on their hands, every last one of them. Perhaps Anders least of all, taking on a role as healer more often than not. In literal terms, Merrill probably had the most due to blood magic. She nearly giggled at her own joke.

But she stopped thinking of it after that, which was better than continuing. She didn't want to know who killed the most people. Even if they did it with such frequency that going out to kill another man wasn't something Hawke even batted an eye at, the thought was upsetting. Even if the dead deserved it, even if they never had to know many of their names and faces…

They had to fight spiders on their way in. Merrill didn't mind the creatures, save for their big pincers and the acid spit. Hawke, however, wasn't able to shoot as well. Not the way her arms tensed up. She would always say she'd rather one big spider to a hundred little ones, but that didn't mean she liked any size. Merrill kept close to Hawke, ready to throw up barriers and keep the big crawlies away from her.

Aveline and Isabela didn't get to stay back and away. They had to stab and slash and poke the bodies of the things until they stopped moving. Or at least mostly stopped—some of the legs left to twitch as their small brains went through their last spasms.

That part even Merrill did not care for.

Past the spiders was their goal. A blonde, dark-skinned elven man stood, his arms outstretched in front of him with his fingers pointing up, like he was telling something to stop. He was mouthing something and staring up.

“Zevran?!” Isabela cried with delight. “Andraste’s flaming tits, it is you!”

Zevran’s head snapped over to them, a look of nervous surprise in his eyes. Before he had the chance to speak, the thing he had been staring at fell to the ground.

“Not you again!” Hawke whined, staring at the Valteral.

Was it the same one? No, Merrill saw it die, along with the hunters it killed. Then there was another? How was any of this possible? Were the creatures of myth able to regenerate, like they were spirits themselves?

“We will need to speak later, it seems!” Zevran called. “We have some unfortunate company.”

Merrill hurried and drew chunks of earth around her body. It would serve as protection. It was necessary to do that, given the reach of the Valteral. She had been working on that technique for a while, and had it down easy as any other magic, now. It was like breathing, but instead of taking in air, you inhaled the energy of the Fade. What you exhaled was up to you.

Merrill chose to release a command over vines. From under the earth it sprang to wrap around the Valteral’s legs, tugging it down so it had a harder time moving. It stumbled and struggled to fight her restraints. Which meant the rest of them had an opening.

Hawke shot where she remembered the Valteral having weak spots. Mostly that was the underbelly and eyes, which were difficult to reach, but she could also find little places where skin peeked out as it moved.

The man apparently named Zevran went to test his blades against the wood-like hide, finding stabbing to be similar to driving in nails. Which meant they were rather difficult to retrieve, and took a sharp tug to pull them out.

Isabela lead by demonstration, slipping under the Valteral’s stomach when it bent low to swipe at Aveline, who was banging her shield to distract it. The soft belly became a pincushion for her daggers. She ended up covered in greenish-brown, sap-like blood.

She had to move quickly, though, and dodge rolled out from beneath it just before it could maneuver a leg to jab at her. The way it leaned only gave Merrill and Hawke openings, however.

A spell and an arrow flew fast, both bursting on impact as the explosive Hawke had rigged onto the tip went off. The bolt of spirit magic bloomed into smoke around it, and the Valteral's usual screeching turned to pained wheezing. It was burned, bleeding, and choking simultaneously. It was a quicker battle this time, yet the death far less kind for all it's swiftness.

The Valteral fell after Zevran managed one large fatal slash, mimicking Isabela by going underneath it. It's legs sprawled out as it died, it's center body collapsing before the blood pooled around it.

Everyone was forced to step over its legs to get closer to the stairs where Hawke and company had come in. Aveline and Hawke did not lower their weapons, unlike everyone else.

“Ah, thank you, friends, for coming to my rescue. I should have known my favorite pirate would arrive in the knick of time. It is poetry, no? We played a game like that once,” Zevran said.

“Oh yes, darling, I remember. You look just as good as you did that day in Denerim. If not better,” Isabela said, eyeing him.

Merrill frowned. She tensed and crossed her arms, even as she tried not to look bothered by the flirtation. She had no claim on Isabela. They had no agreement to not see others. That wouldn't stop that worry in her gut that this Antivan assassin was more exciting and worth running off into the sunset with than any ex-Dalish bloodmage would be.

“What can I say? Handsome men age well,” he noted. “Not that my elven blood shows my age, much. I owe the signs of that to fatherhood, most likely.”

That stopped Isabela in her tracks. That stopped all of them.

“You have children? Illegitimate ones from an ex-lover?” Isabela asked.

He laughed. “I admit that is possible, but no letters from them have come my way. No, my daughters’ mother is my wife. The two of you met, that same day in Denerim that you mentioned.”

Merrill let her arms fall a little. Isabela’s shock had completely dismantled Merrill’s jealousy. It was hard to be upset when the flirtation ceased.

“Your what?” Isabela said.

“My wife. Hera.” Zevran said it with such comfort that the surprise seemed unwarranted.

“You really did it, huh?” Isabela said. “You, who helped me— You were the one back then to help me run from the same fate you have chosen,” Isabela said.

Now Merrill was the one with the questions and surprise. But none of it was voiced. Not yet.

“It is not the same, my dear. You met my Hera, she will not become a stranger. She is the mother of my children, and I love her more with each passing day. Which is why I was willing to risk myself to make Nuncio believe I was alone again.”

Hawke noticed that. “You got caught on purpose?”

“Yes. I am wily, but can only be so much when I have two young girls to care for. She did not like to split off with them, but Hera did when I explained my plan,” Zevran said.

“Do you mean Mahariel?” Merrill said. Her voice sounded so loud to her. Even as the blood rang in her ears, that familiar name bringing up such nerves. Hera had never wronged her in any way, but she was scared. No, not scared. Simply anxious.

“That is one of her names, yes. The first being Hera, the other being a very long story,” Zevran said. “Hera Mahariel is my wife. And she and our children were in danger so long as I was with them.”

“So you left her,” Aveline said in disgust.

“Only for a time. We had a plan to get rid of Nuncio once and for all. The Antivan Crows will eventually catch on and send others, but it will give us time to prepare and cover our tracks. Time to disappear more permanently,” Zevran explained.

“I know the Crows,” Hawke said, her eyes alight. “The man who first taught me to fight used to be a Crow. But he had a target he wouldn't accept.”

“Similar to myself, then. Not that I didn't try, but I did fail. That's why my last target is now Queen of Ferelden. One thing my wife and I have in common, funny enough. Attempting to kill Nyx,” he said with a laugh.

Most of them had no idea how to respond to that particular information. It was quite a lot to digest.

“I guess we should save those questions for later,” Hawke decided. “First, what should be done about Nuncio?”

“Ah, yes. I miscalculated the Dalish might. I had planned to stand with Hera’s old clan, but did not yet know how many had been lost to some odd creature a few years back,” Zevran said.

The Valteral. Possibly the same one that was lying dead before them now. All those hunters…

“Had the hunters remained alive, with my skill and planning, we could have handled Nuncio before he knew what hit him. But when I arrived and Variel explained their losses, I had to change our plans. I hid, far enough to keep them uninvolved, but close enough that they served as a threat. Any help they bought the Dalish would need to trust, and they do not trust easily. Therefore, whoever was sent through was either worth talking to, or at least a fun fight. Though I am very glad I seem to have gotten the former. The wood creature was...unexpected.”

“Back up,” Hawke said. “So this Nuncio guy is actually an Antivan Crow trying to kill an ex-assassin for disobeying and not killing a mark? Is that right?”

“Exactly so,” Zevran confirmed.

“But you did work for them, once,” Aveline asked.

“I did indeed. I was quite good at it, too. But that is what happens when you are raised specifically to be an assassin from the time you are a young boy,” Zevran said. “Please, I know what it is to be without a father. I would not have my daughters live that life, as well. I have coin, if that is more your style of business dealings.”

Hawke shook her head. “No coin. No need. Isabela knows you and seems to trust you…” She glanced at Isabela, and got a nod off confirmation. “...so we will help. We will go to Nuncio’s camp. We can declare you dead, job done.”

“No. He will want to see the body,” Zevran said.

“Then we burn the Valteral. Bring ashes and your blades. The Dalish can supply replacements for you,” Hawke said.

Zevran still looked down. “They will not buy it. I cannot risk them following us longer. I'm afraid you must fight him and his cohorts. Besides, it will be eliminating more dangerous assassins.”

“What do you mean more?” Isabela said. “Have you also taken up vigilantism while I've been here in the Free Marches?”

“Aha, perhaps a bit,” he said with a grin. “It slowed as soon as Hera discovered she was carrying our child. Then stopped at the second, though we made friends along the way who keep up the practice.”

“Maker, no wonder they want to kill you,” Hawke said.

“And not only me, anymore,” Zevran said.

“Will you come with us?” Merrill asked.

“Ah, I had not been planning on it, but seeing dear Isabela here again, I am wondering if I should. Not that you are not capable in a fight, not at all, but I care more to ensure that you and your friends live,” Zevran said.

“Gee, thanks?” Hawke said.

Isabela just chuckled. “You have totally gone soft.”

He shrugged. “After you feel a small fist clutch your finger, your priorities change. That, and Nuncio has been a particular pain in my backside. Which is a shame because I've been told it's quite a nice ass. I'd hate for him to ruin it.”

✖✖✖✖✖

Nuncio stood with the same two men as before, but Zevran and Isabela had done some stealthy scouting. In total, eleven men were present, including the visible ones. The others hid among the bushes outlining the clearing where Hawke had agreed to meet Nuncio.

“You are back. And so soon. I had thought he would give you more trouble, but it appears I picked the right people for the job. Where is that scoundrel?” Nuncio asked, glancing behind Hawke.

“Right here,” Zevran said, twirling a dagger around his finger. “I must say, you had good luck in finding help. They have informed me of their standings in Kirkwall. Champion, Captain, a Dalish mage… and not to mention my old friend.”

Isabela waved. “Pirate and thief extraordinaire!” she declared.

“I am guessing you talked,” Nuncio said, attempting to mask his annoyance as bitter amusement. “You would believe his word over that of an Antivan noble, Champion?”

“Yep,” Hawke said simply. Isabela knew Zevran, and vouched for him. Besides, the sappy way he talked about his daughters was enough to convince her that whole story was true. “You’re a Crow, right? Ever know an older man with a scar across his lip and chin? Grey eyes?”

“So you know everything, then,” Nuncio said. “That is disappointing. I had hoped we could make use of you again, but now we will have to simply kill you all.”

Hawke wasn’t going to get her answer on her mentor. She’d always wanted to know more, always hoped she’d find out the truth of the matter one day. But it seemed Nuncio wasn’t the one to answer her questions.

Hawke readied her bow and fired, but these men were no simple bandits. Antivan Crows are trained fighters, meant to be ruthless and smart. They were careful and patient. Their goal would be to drag out the fight an exhaust their opponents, or fake them out with what looked to be an easy opening before jabbing a poisoned blade into their back.

Zevran had given each of them a bit of advice on the way. Isabela was to not use any opening that seemed too easy. It could be a trick or a trap, and they weren’t likely to be so clumsy as to offer her tons of places to strike.

Aveline was to focus more on pushing them back with her shield, knocking them down if she could. Then she was not to strike with her own sword, but pin them where they were vulnerable to one of Hawke’s arrows. Which is what Hawke would be on the lookout for.

Merrill had to explain what magic she was capable of before getting advice. Zevran had known a few mages in the past, three from the time of the Blight alone, but none that he’d fought alongside had been Dalish. He’d also only met a couple of bloodmages in his time, and was curious about how that worked.

After a thorough discussion—which left Merrill looking lighter than she had in weeks—Zevran knew where her strengths laid. She would partner with Isabela and Zevran, first by ensnaring enemies in her vines, then by using a bit of spirit magic that might hold them in place. Paralyzation glyphs were a better fit for such a task, but Anders was more skilled in laying those.

Still, Zevran’s tactics were working pretty well at first. Nuncio had fallen back to command the other men, dodging so much and so quick that attacking him was pointless. He wasn’t in the offensive, yet. He knew how to save his energy and strength.

Hawke still tried to fire at him when she thought his attention was elsewhere. There were so many other people on the field, surely he would have to drag his eyes to something or someone else at some point. But no, every arrow she fired missed.

“Do not bother with that, Hawke,” Zevran said, slipping back to her. “Nuncio has enhanced senses from those enchanted rings he wears. It is a cheap advantage, but being a Crow is not about playing fair.”

“Any way you could get those off of him?” Hawke suggested.

“Perhaps. I might just remove his whole hand or a few fingers to do so,” Zevran said thoughtfully. “Let’s see how I do!”

He leapt forward again, quick and light on his feet. But he slowed his pace as a streak of red hair cut across the battlefield, heading straight for Nuncio.

A woman had joined the fray, looking to fight against the Crows. She swept in with twin blades, though a shortbow was also on her back with a few arrows supplied. Nuncio was caught off guard, just slightly enough that she nicked his forearm. His brows knit together, and he launched into a counterattack, pissed enough from getting wounded that he dropped his previous tactics.

The red-haired woman struck hard and fast, looking like she was aiming specifically for his arms. Nuncio noticed this, too, and started to pull his elbows back further after each strike. That turned out to be a mistake, as the woman’s real target was made more open by this change in his stance. She sliced off two fingers on his right hand, which also removed two of his many rings.

“My beloved!” Zevran called.

“ _That’s_ your wife?” Hawke asked.

Zevran nodded with a heart full of pride. “Is she not the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen? Even I come second in comparison to her beauty.”

His earnesty was making Hawke blush a little. Hera was truly lovely though, in a harder way. She wasn’t pretty like Bethany, who would love a life of beautiful dresses, tea, and finger sandwiches. Hera was sharp angles and narrowed eyes, emphasized further by her elven features. Her face was adorned with markings like Merrill’s, though in a design that looked more like a bow and arrow. Her orange hair was mostly in a high ponytail, save for two little wisps that seemed determined to escape it and fall on the sides of her face.

Hera went against Nuncio all on her own, fighting with ferocity that no one else on the field could possibly match. She fought both like a woman with nothing left to lose, and everything at stake. Her risks were calculated, her execution flawless.

While the rest of the group took out the lackeys, Hera sent Nuncio to the ground all on her own. He hit it hard, coughing up blood and groaning in pain. Hawke hurried over as the last of the men died, to see if he might still be able to speak. Maybe he knew something about her first teacher. Maybe in his dying breath he’d tell her.

“An old man,” Hawke reminded him, standing over where Nuncio lied, “Grey eyes and a scar on his chin. Bushy eyebrows and a beard. Does any of that sound familiar?”

“I…do know you,” Nuncio murmured, like he had been trying to place Hawke this whole time. “You… Hawke. The mage.”

“I’m not a mage,” Hawke said.

“No. You aren’t. He was. Someone paid...didn’t like that. Didn’t like an apostate taking that woman. No relation. Some noble hoping to join the families. We sent one of the most experienced among us. Mage was talented,” Nuncio said. His words were slow and slightly slurred, blood dripping from his mouth. He coughed, throat sounding terribly dry despite the wetness of the blood. “Old Crow never returned. Decided not to kill the mage because of his children. Went and killed the one who hired us instead, to nullify the contract and protect the family. Too soft hearted in his old age.”

Hawke stared. Her first teacher, her old master, the strange elderly man she had revered for his skill had been sent to kill her father all those years ago. Was it meeting her that changed his mind? Or had he just seen Sarah with Carver and Bethany and known that they wouldn’t do as well without their father? He could have changed the course of their lives so much more than he already did. Instead, he just taught a scrappy little girl how to fight.

“And then one of you killed him,” Hawke breathed.

“Yes. Traitors don’t deserve to remain alive and breathing,” Nuncio said. He spit out more blood, breaths getting raspier as he drew the last of them. “They will send others, Zevran. Just give up and stop running. Make it easier on yourself. On your family.”

Zevran laughed bitterly. “I thought the Antivan Crows relished a good challenge? Or have things changed so much since I left you?”

Nuncio didn’t get a clever retort, choking on his blood with his last attempt to speak. His eyes rolled back, then he finally stopped moving.

Hera kicked his body. “Rotten bastard. That will teach you to threaten my girls.”

“Speaking of, my dear, where have they gotten to?” Zevran asked, a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

“Juno! Kore! You may come out now!” Hera called, turning her head back.

From a small outcropping of rocks, a place only tiny children would be small enough to fit in, came two small girls with hair as red as their mothers and skin that was a bit darker like their father’s. One was a bit taller and leaner, while the other had a lot of baby fat around her legs and cheeks. They had tiny knives on tiny belts around their waists, like junior warrior women.

The two girls giggled as they rushed up to embrace their mother, then went to their father. Little elven ears poked out from their hair, looking just a bit too big for their faces. Ideally, they’d grow into them with time. They seemed unbothered as they looked over the dead bodies.

The older one, who Hawke soon gathered was Juno, had one eye the color of her mother’s and the other more like her father. The younger one with the appley cheeks had something that was more like a compromise between the turquoise and brown; ending up with hazel.

“Say thank you to the kind strangers for helping mommy and daddy,” Hera instructed them.

The girls giggled through their “thank you’s.” Despite the amount of death they must have encountered in their time on the run, they seemed like very happy children, indeed. They certainly loved their parents.

“How old are they?” Isabela asked, still perplexed by their very existence. Hawke got the short version of Zevran’s history, though Isabela had omitted most parts including her when telling it. Promiscuity was more his thing, once upon a time. Now he appeared to be very happily tied down (and not in a kinky way).

“Juno is five and Kore is just barely four,” Hera said, patting her youngest daughter’s head.

“You got blood on your nose,” Kore said, pointing a chubby little finger up at Hawke’s face.

Hawke touched her nose to find that some dried blood had wound up splattered and streaked across it. Gross. She’d have to find something to wash it off with around Nuncio’s camp. She was sure he wouldn’t mind much, being dead and all.

“Whatever payment Nuncio would have offered you should still be around here, somewhere,” Zevran said. “Feel free to take whatever you want from them for your troubles. We’ll be taking a bit of their food ourselves.”

“Do they have peaches? I want peaches!” Juno declared.

“I don’t know what they’ve got, Juno,” Hera said. “But we can get you a peach in the next town if they don’t have any.”

“I want the— it’s the thing? You have the apple and you have it and it’s good,” Kore said.

Hawke couldn’t make any sense of that, but Hera just smiled and nodded.

“We’ll find some good things for you, too,” Hera promised. “Thank you, Isabela. And…?”

“Hawke. Sarah Hawke. And these are Merrill and Aveline,” Hawke said, gesturing to them.

“Well, then, thank you all. My family owes you a debt. If you ever need someone dead nice and quiet, look for us. We might not be Crows, but we’re quite good at what we do, as well,” Hera said.

The girls didn’t even blink. Being raised around death in such a constant state must have numbed them to it, somewhat. Whether that was good or bad for their overall mental health, who could say? But Hawke didn’t feel that she was in the position to question it, with her own upbringing of running from templars and hiding her father and sister’s magic talents.

Not to mention the revelation that her mentor had actually been sent to kill her father. It was an odd pill to swallow. Not necessarily hard—it was honestly something she felt she ought to have guessed, considering—but odd. She didn’t feel betrayed, because he never actually harmed her father. But he also knew he could have hurt her terribly the whole time he’d been teaching her.

All that time she’d sort of assumed he was just amused by her enough to give lessons. Now she wondered if it wasn’t his attempt at making amends.

“We’d best be off,” Hera said, holding Kore on her hip. “Perhaps we can meet again, someday.”

“I guess. Maybe,” Hawke said.

“I don’t suppose you’d be up for reliving that day in Denerim,” Isabela teased.

“I’m a one woman man, now, sad to say. Not sad for me, but sad for all the beautiful people around Thedas who never got a taste,” Zevran said, shrugging.

“A taste of what?” Juno asked.

“Peaches,” Hawke said quickly, without thinking.

Zevran laughed at the way Hawke flustered, trying to protect their young minds. “Yes, I no longer share my peaches with any woman other than your mother, little one.”

“I’ll have my own peaches, so I don’t need to share.”

Hawke just wanted to hide her face. Children made her so nervous. The others just chuckled at the cuteness and moved along. Aveline in particular stared with a sort of interest.

“I’m…glad you’re happy,” Isabela said. “Both of you. It’s… You deserve it, Zev.”

Zevran smiled, and this time his look was softer. Less of the cocky half-grins he pulled most of the time. There was nostalgia in his eyes as he went to hug Isabela goodbye.

“Be well, my lovely pirate. Maybe you will find your harbor as well,” Zevran said.

Isabela made no comment, and Hawke could see Merrill shuffle awkwardly. He must have noticed the strange air around those two. If only Hawke could force them into working it out.

“Mahariel!” Merrill said, before Hera could go. “Are you…happy?”

Hera looked sad for a moment, but only in the way that someone thinking about their lost childhood would. Then she smiled, and with all the sincerity possible, she answered, “Very.”


	45. On the Loose

The Gallows had a weighty air to it. It always had, ever since that first day Hawke and her family got off the boat to look for Gamlen. That day felt like a lifetime ago, and so different than things were now.

The air was heavier. “The weight of oppression” may as well have sat on people’s shoulders as literal weights, holding them down. The number of Tranquil with that sunburst symbol on their heads, selling Chantry wares and Circle potions, was enough to churn Hawke’s stomach. She’d had dreams a couple of nights where Bethany’s forehead bore the same symbol.

She’d also had dreams about nugs trying to cook her for dinner. She preferred that one.

Hawke would no longer willingly go to the Gallows unless summoned. Even the merchant she’d done favors for in the past hadn’t seen her in years. He had a lead for her on a high dragon, asking about some scales and blood and “oh, maybe a scraping off the horns?” She brushed it off for the moment, promising to look into it whenever she had time. He would write her a reminder later; she was certain.

No, this time she was not there to find some fun little adventure to go on. Hawke had been summoned. By _Meredith._

What possessed her to think that Hawke was interested in helping her was beyond anyone’s capability for reason. The Mad Viscount wasn’t one for logic, so it did make a sort of sense for not making any at all. The real problem was that Hawke didn’t have the option of saying “no,” even though she desperately wanted to just flip Meredith the bird and tell her to piss off into the Deep Roads to rot there.

If she didn’t at least hear Meredith out, word would spread that the Champion was not listening to orders from the Knight Commander. Which would paint her as a mage sympathizer. Which even though that was exactly what she was, wasn’t a good play. It could endanger Bethany, or Anders, or Merrill, or possibly someone else she was connected to less immediately. Meredith had the power to ruin Hawke’s life. So Hawke wouldn’t give her that chance.

Templars nodded solemnly as Hawke passed, her Champion armor recognizable even more than she herself was. She noticed Cullen training some recruits off to one side, eyeing her as she entered the templar grounds. He looked like he had multiple sticks up his ass that required dislodging. So, nothing unusual, there.

Meredith’s door was open. Hawke strode on in. She waited a moment while Meredith continued looking over some piece of parchment, then cleared her throat with deep impatience. Meredith glanced up with narrowed eyes.

But she relaxed them when she spoke, “Ah, Champion. Welcome. I've been expecting you.”

“So I heard. Something incredibly urgent?”

Meredith stood, waving a hand for Hawke to follow as she walked briskly out of the room. Her heavy armor clanked as she went, her steps loud against the stone floor. Hawke had taken care in learning to be light on her feet, but a templar likely trained in ways similar to Aveline, making them more grounded. Which took away stealth, but Meredith didn't need that.

Hawke got the feeling she probably liked the way people would anticipate her presence in fear. Not just the mages, but those under her command surely felt the pressure of her approach, as well.

“There was an incident in the Gallows, many phylacteries were destroyed or otherwise tampered with. A number of mages took that as an opportunity to escape. We did manage to capture most of the fugitives. However, we require some assistance with the three remaining,” Meredith said as they walked together.

Tampered with? That sounded like Orsino's work. But no way he would put together something of a mass exodus.

“How could the phylacteries be destroyed? Aren't those heavily guarded?” Hawke asked.

“An insurrection. A few of my own men, templars, helped in orchestrating the escape. They endangered their charges, and the very city out of misplaced sympathy,” Meredith said. “Thankfully, most of the mages fled to their families and gave themselves up easily when found. It is only those I've called you here to aid in locating that have been difficult.”

“I take it the fact that you aren't using templars means your trust of them has gone?” Hawke said.

Meredith grimaced. “Not all of them have shown such weaknesses, but yes, there are those no longer willing to serve the Chantry as they vowed to do. Those who are loyal yet have already exhausted our resources and efforts. You, on the other hand, are a Champion of the people. Perhaps the ones aiding and hiding the mages would be more willing to speak with you. Particularly their families, who fear templars rather than trusting in us. They will be more honest with you.”

“I suppose I can try. But tell me, what would you do to the mages if they returned? If they willingly gave themselves up again?”

“The punishment would be decided upon their return, depending on the severity of what damage was done outside these walls. I am not so barbaric as Orsino would have you believe. I shall make certain that each punishment fits the crime.”

They were in the courtyard, then, which Hawke recognized only from the Fade dreams of Feynriel when they rescued him. A mage prevented from a life of the Circle, and of Tranquility. Hawke loathed to help Meredith, but maybe she could use this to her advantage.

“I’ll...see what I can do,” Hawke said, trying not to hesitate and failing. Cooperating was necessary, but not entirely in her nature.

“As Champion of Kirkwall, you have shown once again that you are on the side of justice,” Meredith said. She did not smile, she may not have even been capable of it, but the satisfaction in her voice was unmistakable. “Talk to these mages’ families, learn where they are hiding, and find them before they do harm.”

“ _If_ they do harm,” Hawke said.

Meredith’s pleased tone disappeared as she said, “You of all people should understand the danger of apostates.”

Hawke probably should have held her tongue. To take advantage of Meredith, she needed the woman’s whole trust, not just pieces of it.

“Speak to my assistant, Elsa, if you require aid. She has information on the fugitives and their families that you may find useful,” Meredith said.

She gestured to a mage girl, sitting stoic on a bench in the courtyard. Elsa had been so quiet and small that Hawke hadn’t even noticed her, and it was easy to tell why. The girl was tranquil, the sunburst symbol of Andraste and the Maker burned into her forehead.

How much did it hurt to have that thing forced onto a person’s body? Was the burning of the symbol a part of the necessary process, or just an added cruelty to mark them like cattle? They were certainly used like animals, so Hawke wouldn’t put it past the Chantry.

She only hoped that she was first made Tranquil, then branded, because maybe being without emotion also numbed some of the physical pain.

Meredith cleared her throat. “I bid you good day, Champion,” she said. She had noticed the way Hawke stared at Elsa in horror. It was impossible to miss the expression on Hawke’s face.

As Meredith left the courtyard, Elsa stood dutifully and came over to Hawke. She gave a little nod, then spoke, “Good day, Champion of Kirkwall. Knight Commander Meredith has informed me that you will be tracking down the apostates on behalf of the templars. There are three of them: Huon, Emile, and Evelina.”

Elsa spoke so quickly, and in a near monotone. Her eyes appeared dead, her facial muscles barely moving but to help her form her words and blink. Her arms laid limp at her sides, though her back was stiff and upright.

“Meredith uses a tranquil mage for an assistant?” Hawke asked.

“The knight commander believes tranquil mages to be efficient and single minded. I, in particular, am extremely organized,” Elsa said.

“This doesn’t...bother you?” Hawke asked.

“It cannot bother me. Nothing can, any longer. I am told it is better that way. Before this, I was irrational and angry. Now I can be peaceful and help the knight commander. It is a good thing.”

Words she was surely fed by Meredith herself. Hawke knew she didn’t have the ability to tell that this was wrong, that this state of being was wrong. If only Elsa could simply be shaken hard enough that whatever blocked her off inside fell out and freed her.

“Just...tell me what I need to know about the apostates,” Hawke said.

Elsa nodded and explained.

Huon, the first, was an elven man who had married outside the Circle before being captured. His wife’s name was Nyssa, a sweet elven lady whose hands shook terribly whenever templars came near. She always insisted to those who asked that she had last seen Huon on the day he was taken to the Circle, and not a moment since. Meredith suspected that this was untrue.

Emile belonged to the de Launcet family, and was the fifth son of the Comte. It was easiest to find the family at their home in Hightown in the evening, particularly Emile’s mother. In contrast to the skittish nature of Nyssa, Emile’s mother took to weeping in agony whenever the templars came, fearing her son was to be killed. Through her tears and sobbing, no templar could even understand if she was telling them anything, let alone if the information was useful.

Evelina, the final missing mage, was apparently a transfer from the Circle of Ferelden. Hawke assumed she meant the largest Circle at Kinloch Hold. It wasn’t commonly known, but there were smaller Circles throughout the nation of Ferelden to accommodate for small local populations. Usually these were waypoints, a place to train the youngest mages close to their original homes before space could be made in Kinloch for them.

Which meant older mages with more experience were forced out of Kinloch, especially those who showed talent. Anders had explained that this is what happened to Karl; his talent pegged him as a good candidate for transfer as a teacher for young students in other nations. One could also be sent out to a local Chantry to heal the population or to a noble household to serve that family for the rest of their life.

Evelina was not sent to Kirkwall officially. She had escaped Kinloch during the Blight, claiming to have been running from darkspawn and not from her captivity. This was a hard sell, given how long she remained hidden in Darktown. She tried to care for the poor children, particularly those who had been orphaned. She fed them and kept them warm, but when the Qunari attack raised the level of desperation everyone was under, it did the same to her.

Evelina turned herself in to the templars on the condition that the Chantry had to look after the kids of Darktown while she could not. It was unlikely this deal was ever actually followed through on—an empty promise made simply to take Evelina in quietly. Elsa didn’t say this, but Hawke read between the lines. What was noted was that Evelina had killed two templars already, making her now the most dangerous of the list.

Hawke thanked Elsa for her assistance, and Elsa wished her luck on her searching. It was an awkward parting, mostly due to Hawke. Elsa probably had no understanding of what strange interactions were like, anymore. She saw everything just the same, just bland and colorless. She floated through her life, unaware of what had been taken.

Meredith was a fool. Like Hawke would willingly give any other mage in to her.

✖✖✖✖✖

Anders was in agreement once Hawke explained the plan. She had Varric along as well, and Tyr was Anders’ eternal plus one, it seemed. They probably separated at times, but when Hawke had a task, they came as a matched set. It was fine by her. She’d seen what the large man could do with an axe.

Asking around the Alienage still took a while to yield answers about Nyssa. They didn’t trust humans as far as they could throw them, which Hawke felt was fair and entirely within their rights, despite being unhelpful. Finally, one elf asked if they had bought something from her, and Hawke managed to lie her way into finding out that Huon’s wife ran a little business making clothing on the cheap. It was what the people of the Alienage could afford, and she was quite well liked for her skill with a needle and thread.

Hawke would have promised those who gave her the information that Nyssa wouldn’t get hurt, but there was nothing that sounded more threatening than that. At least not without the elves explicitly asking her not to bring Nyssa harm. She had to just hope they still believed that she wanted to purchase something from Nyssa, even as she walked away from them.

Huon’s wife was a small woman, even for an elf. Her tiny hands were strong around a needle and thread, however. Nyssa looked up at Hawke with kind, but tired eyes. The dress in her hands was made of scraps and cheaply woven threads, but was still so beautiful. What made the difference was the way she embroidered her flowers. It was like they could really bloom out of the cotton weaves.

“May I help you with something? If you’d like to order some clothes to be made or tailored, I’m afraid I’ve a long list of people waiting already. It won’t be done for quite a while,” Nyssa said.

“That’s alright, but thank you. I was actually wondering if I might ask a couple of questions regarding your husband?” Hawke said.

Her face twitched. “I haven’t seen him since he went to the Circle,” she said dutifully. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Hawke would have needed to simply insist on the importance of locating him before the templars, if not for the way Nyssa’s hand wandered to a bruise around her wrist. It was done without thought. Hawke could tell from the way her fingers snapped back as soon as Nyssa realized what she had done.

“Templars are brutes, but they don't typically get rough with anyone other than mages,” Hawke said. “Huon did that?”

“I-I told you. I h-haven’t seen him since he was taken.” Nyssa couldn't meet Hawke’s eyes.

“That’s some devotion you have. Still protecting him when he did something like that to you?”

“He wasn't always like this!” Nyssa said. She bit down on her bottom lip, casting aside the fabric she'd been working with. “He was kind, before. They've made him desperate. He's...scared of what they might do to him. To me. Huon came to me earlier, wanted me to hide him. He said he had a plan, but I didn't understand it. Huon spoke so quickly and said things about showing people ‘true elven power.’”

She shook her head, the water welling in her eyes but willed just short of falling. “He’s not the man I once knew. The man I loved. I dreamed of him returning but the changes I saw were frightening. But that doesn’t mean I want the templars to kill him either…”

Hawke extended her hand, a kerchief clutched between her fingers. Nyssa took it and dabbed at the tears that had formed, giving it back within moments.

“We don't want any harm to come to Huon. I got my information from the templars, but I don't work for them. Not really,” Hawke said in hushed tones. She couldn't have word travel back to Meredith that she said this. Chances were the elves here held little allegiance to any arm of the Chantry, but it was best to be cautious.

Nyssa studied Hawke for a moment. “If that is true,” she said at last, her words slow and with a sudden crispness they lacked before, “come back here, to this stand, tonight. Huon said he would meet me here to enact his plan. That we would be together forever.”

Hawke nodded. “We will return after dusk. You have our protection.”

“Would you arrest him? He needs help, and I don’t know where else to turn but the Circle,” Nyssa said.

“That will be decided when we see him. We may be able to help in ways the Circle could not do for him,” Hawke said. There was a reason he’d left them in the first place, after all.

In the meantime, Darktown wasn't too far. They decided they might as well check into Evelina.

Hawke had to ask over twenty people if they had known her before she noticed they were being followed. The person was pretty light on their feet, but not terribly stealthy besides that. Hawke whirled around and grabbed at the person shadowing her, only to realize just how the pursuer had been so light-footed.

It was a child. He shouted a few expletives that kids his age usually didn't actually know, let alone use, struggling against her grasp. Hawke had his wrist firmly in hand, but her grip loosened in her shock. He managed to tug away, jumping a few paces back. He didn't run away.

“I'm sorry,” Hawke said. “I wouldn't have grabbed you, but you were following me and I was hoping to figure out why.”

The boy shook, staring up at her. He started to sniffle and tear up, then shouted at the top of his lungs, “ _Walter!_ ”

Hawke blinked as another, slightly taller child arrived, patting the young boy on the head.

“You're the one that's been asking about Evelina,” Walter said, looking Hawke up and down. “What do you want with her? You gonna hurt her? Huh? Or were you just planning to rough up me and Chris?”

“Nothing like that,” Hawke insisted. “If I can, I'd like to help her. Kirkwall isn't a very safe place for mages.”

The crying boy—Chris—stopped, returning to light sniffles as he stared at her with shining eyes. “Evelina helped us. Blessed Andraste sent her to give us food and heal us. The templars took her but she still sends us things.”

“Yeah,” Walter said, “and now she's free. She doesn't need help.”

“Really? I gathered that it was kind of the opposite. That she is in trouble, getting chased down by templars and fighting them. But I can help her to be free. To really be free.”

The kids exchanged a glance. Hawke was still an adult, and they knew better than to just trust anyone over eighteen without checking how legitimate their promises were, first. That counted Hawke, though she was something of a kid at heart.

“Evelina wouldn't like us talking to you. She came back so angry, I've never seen it before,” Chris said.

“We were told she hurt people,” Hawke said, “but did she threaten either of you at all?”

“No, ser,” the two boys said in unison.

“Then she’s retained some sense of self. That means we’ve a better chance of her not becoming an abomination,” Anders whispered to Hawke. The children didn’t need to hear such frightening things about someone they considered a friend.

“If she’s used ‘that sort’ of magic at all,” Hawke said, quiet as she could without turning her back on the two boys. She bent down after that, pulling out five sovereigns. “Thank you for your help. Try to make this last.”

She wanted to have another chat with Sebastian about the Chantry’s aid programs. How were they really benefiting the people of Kirkwall when children were still running in the streets in dirty clothes, all skin and bones? Seb she could argue with. Elthina was a wall of passivity.

“Wait, ser!” Chris said when it seemed like Hawke was prepared to leave. “I saw where she ran. She felt bad for what she did, told us she was dangerous and not to follow. Then she went down there, to the tunnels. I would have gone but it’s so dark…”

“And I stopped him,” Walter said, a protective hand on the younger boy’s shoulder.

“Those ones there?” Hawke said, pointing to a nearby entrance to paths only professional smugglers got overly familiar with. Which meant Hawke knew them intimately.

Chris nodded.

“We should go after her now,” Tyr said.

“But it’s nearing dusk,” Anders said. He turned to Hawke. “Any chance of getting other help?”

“Isabela and Merrill will be on the way. You three handle Evelina. I’ll go to make sure Nyssa isn’t hurt,” Hawke said.

Varric grimaced. “Hawke, you sure you don’t need more backup than that?”

Hawke shook her head. “The others are in Hightown. If I go to find them it may be too late. I don’t trust that Huon won’t hurt his wife.”

“I’d like to be more optimistic, but I saw those bruises, too,” Anders agreed. “You need to hurry, and so do we. Before Evelina can move again and we lose her.”

The plan was set. Hawke turned and ran as fast as she could, back to Lowtown and over to the Hanged Man. Isabela was in Varric’s room, touching some of his things.

“You know he hates when you rifle through his belongings,” Hawke warned.

“I was just hoping to find something he might not miss too terribly,” Isabela said.

“Haven’t learned your lesson about thieving?”

Isabela’s lips curled into a deep frown. “It’s not that. I wanted a gift for someone, but didn’t have the money for something nice enough. Varric has all sorts of little trinkets he never uses. One teensy bauble going missing wouldn’t be so bad now, would it?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I will attempt to deal with this later,” she said, gesturing to Isabela and the bits of Varric’s rooms that had been turned over during her mad search. “For now I need your help with something. An elven woman in the Alienage needs protecting.”

Isabela perked up for a moment, then tightened. “Is Merrill coming?”

“She’s nearby, and I need help fast. So, yes, that’s the plan. Promise you two can be civil?”

Isabela took a deep breath, but ultimately nodded.

Hawke hurried to the Alienage, trusting Isabela to follow. Rain had started to fall around them, running down Hawke’s armor but still managing to seep through and wet her underclothes. She didn’t have time to care.

Hurrying towards Merrill’s door, Hawke paused just before knocking. From the corner of her eye she saw a man with brown hair fashioned into a braid, heading towards the Alienage marketplace. The rain had sent most of the elves flocking to their homes or some other shelter, but Nyssa had promised to wait at her stand. The man Hawke spotted looked slightly unhinged. It could have been Huon.

“Isabela, get Merrill, then meet me at the markets. She might know who Nyssa is if you give her the name. Just hurry!” Hawke said, then sprinted off. Isabela didn’t even have a moment to respond.

Her footsteps splashed in the divets of uneven ground. Thr gathered puddles seeped right through her shoes. It was hard focusing against the discomfort, but she had to.

Hawke looked to Nyssa’s stand, seeing the man already near her. She’d managed to throw up a tarp against the rain, but still shivered from the cool night air. The man extended a hand, seemingly gentle but with an odd threatening air.

“Huon, please,” Nyssa said, her voice audible once Hawke got close enough. “You’re not well. Your eyes…”

“Hush, love,” Huon spoke.

He dug his nails into his palm, reopening a wound that had barely started to close. Blood dripped on the ground, running over his skin from the rain. Then, it crawled up his arm unnaturally, swirling around before floating off of him. There was a slight flash from the cut in his palm, and then Nyssa started forward.

Her gait was unnatural. Forced. She dragged her feet like she was sleepwalking and weighed down by some heavy thing around her waist.

Hawke called out her name, but Nyssa gave no response.

Her face was suddenly blank, where there had been marks of concern and fear moments before. The rain pressed her hair to her cheeks, but she didn’t even shiver anymore.

Huon embraced his wife, who managed only a whimper against the blood magic that puppeted her movements.

“Release her!” Hawke said, drawing her bow. She wasn't sure what he intended to do. He wasn't an abomination, just a blood mage. If he still had control of his faculties, maybe he could see reason?

“Don’t be afraid,” Huon said. “We will do good for all elves throughout Thedas. That’s what you always said you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Nyssa still couldn’t speak. Hawke heard her make breathy attempts at producing any kind of vocal sound, but again and again she failed. Until, that is, she made a sound like she was choking.

Huon laid his dying wife on the soaked ground slow, still cradling her like a precious thing.

He’d been right there. If Hawke had just fired a shot, if Hawke just hadn’t hesitated… What did she think was going to happen? These things always went wrong.

She could hear Isabela shouting her name, and Merrill screaming for Nyssa. She saw Huon speaking, but at that point the blood in her ears rang to loud to hear it.

She fired an arrow before the first demon fully rose. Hawke shot Huon direct between his eyes. The magic didn’t even have time to complete. Nyssa’s death was going to be for nothing at all, not even a horrid use of blood magic.

Merrill sprinted forward, shouting prayers to the Creators and doing what she could to close the wound, but she was no healer like Anders. She understood the outer layers; the cuts and scabs and scrapes. Merrill could even do bruises, if the hurt wasn’t too deep. But the knife Huon had used had gone deep, rupturing organs. Even with the excess blood flow stopped on the outside, she would still bleed internally.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said, starting to cry. “I’m so sorry. I said I would protect you.”

 

Nyssa looked up, eyes already unfocused and weary. “You…stopped him. That counts.” Then her head lolled to the side, and she was dead.

✖✖✖✖✖

It baffled Anders how willing the escaped Circle mages were to turn their souls over to demons. Oh sure, he was bonded to a spirit, but it had been under very particular circumstances and was never self serving. Maybe it became a way for Justice to aid his cause, but it certainly hadn’t started like that.

But finding Evelina made it clear that her soul was no longer hers alone. The two children Anders had seen before were at her side, hiding partially behind her with her hands on each of their little heads. They looked able to tell that she was not herself, shaking not as Anders approached, but as they looked up at Evelina.

“I'm sorry,” the littler one, Chris, said. “We knew she'd be angry. We thought, if we warned her, it wouldn't be so bad.”

“There, there,” Evelina said, patting his head. Instead of calming Chris, the motion made him cringe. “They won't take me away again. I know their tricks. I know their lies.”

“We aren't taking you to the Circle,” Anders said. “I'm a mage, just like you. We want to help you.” Then, he addressed the demon, using Justice’s voice to bolster the intimidation he attempted. “Leave her body, demon. She was not yours to claim!”

The children startled more at this, the threat Justice posed and the presence of a demon now evident. They scattered. Evelina didn't attempt to chase them, focused for the moment on Anders. As an abomination, there was little hope for her. Anders still had to try.

“The Chantry lied. They said these children would be fed, but they come to me, stomachs still growling, cheeks still sallow. I only learned when one of them showed magic, and was taken in to me. They lied and hid their lie. It is not wrong of me to work to make things right,” Evelina said.

“But a demon cannot help you do that,” Anders said, no longer using Justice's voice to layer over his own. “Believe me, their corruption runs deep. We can help you! We have helped others like you already. We can stop—”

“Your efforts stop nothing. Those you rescue still run and hide, if they don't simply wind up dead. You know this. You see them in your dreams,” she taunted.

This time the magic of the spirit flared up in Anders without need for thought. “Do not diminish what I have done with your words! Release her, now!”

Evelina did not speak again. Instead, the abomination laughed with her voice as the human facade cracked and seemed to boil away, turning to a creature that was hideous and vile. One of the two boys shreiked, and no one was certain which one.

Then Evelina shot a bolt of magic towards Anders, and there were no choices left. She was going to die.

✖✖✖✖✖

“And the children?” Hawke asked, wringing her hands.

“Safe, albeit traumatised,” Tyr answered.

Anders was still distraught, shaking his head. “Why do they keep turning to blood magic? How have we not done enough to prevent this?”

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. He seemed like he needed one. Or a million. No hug in the world could be enough to soothe the bubbling mix of feelings in his gut, even one of Hawke's really good ones.

“We have one left,” she said. “He may do better. I'm going to meet with his mother. He's noble born. If nothing else, he might have avoided blood magic because it's unsavory.”

“Go, then. I need to stay in the clinic for now, but should you need me…”

Hawke nodded. She didn't plan to call on him again, if she could help it. He had been through enough, not just for the day or the week, but for a lifetime. If there was such a thing as retirement for hidden healer apostates, she'd try convincing him to take it.

For now, she was off to Hightown. Supper was too long an affair for this kind of questioning. Instead, they were going to have a bit of evening tea with cookies on the side. The pleasantries were a pain, but she would get through them.

The Comtesse got a little weepy at the mention of her son, but not so much to be unintelligible. She hadn't seen him since he was six, was the claim, but knew he was a good boy. Certainly not one to involve himself in dangerous things.

And then their little party was crashed by the Comte himself.

“What is this I heard in town of you giving Emile gold? I hear he's spread the de Launcet name all over Lowtown!” the Comte was shouting, storming in from the other room.

“Darling, we have company,” the Comtesse said, blushing and scandalized. “The Champion?”

Hawke gave a weak wave. “What was that about Emile?”

The Comte sighed, lowering his volume a bit to be more proper in front of their guest. “Trusted associates of mine said they saw Emile and overheard him speaking loudly to some Lowtown whores about his family's wealth. Flashing gold he apparently got from his dear mother?” He glared at his wife.

The waterworks started again, making the Comtesse a mess of tears and flailing hands. “What was I supposed to do? He just wanted to start a new life, that's all. He's still our son, Guillarme!”

The Comte sighed heavily, bowing his head. “Please, Champion, be merciful. Do not let the templars kill the boy. He is a dunce and spoiled, but he is no bloodmage.”

The Comtesse colored at the very mention of blood magic.

“You said your associates saw him. Did they happen to notice where he was heading next?” Hawke asked.

“Some dive called the Hanged Man?” he answered.

“Oh yeah. I'm familiar with it.”

The Comtesse made a sound of horror and disgust. “But that place is so filthy!” She looked prepared to faint.

“Don't worry. I will make sure your son is safe,” Hawke said. Oh, she would have to tell Varric about that reaction. He was sure to get a kick out of it.

Speaking of, he was waiting for her at her place to see if she needed help. Hawke suspected not, but as they were headed the same direction anyway, Varric tagged along. If nothing else, he might get a laugh and a story out of the night.

The Hanged Man was in it's usual state: possessing an odd and unidentifiable odor with raucous chatter all around. Emile could have been anywhere on a busy night like this. Hawke almost suggested splitting up until she saw just who they were looking for.

He was in his late twenties as the description his mother gave, but that red-brown hair of his was receding. Hawke tried not to react. His shining head was rather hard to ignore, even with his pinkish nose and cheeks. The alcohol got to him so bad that he was flushed. Emile probably didn't get access to hard liquors in the Circle, so his tolerance was non-existent.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, the Orlesian accent inescapable. “You are...standing here. Talking to me?”

Hawke quirked a brow. “Sure am.”

“Does that mean you want me?”

“...what?”

“Women are so unpredictable, I don't know why you're talking to me!” he insisted, taking another drink. He stared at the wall as if Hawke had disappeared and he was alone again. “I come here to meet a woman but I have never been out like this before.”

“You're joking,” Hawke said.

“No, I think he's seriously that pathetic,” Varric said with a snicker.

Hawke shushed him. Not because she disapproved, really, but because she wanted to be done with this and offending Emile wouldn't make him any easier to talk to.

“I was taken to the Circle when I was just a child,” Emile sad defensively. “Of course I had no chance to meet with a girl. I spent all of puberty in there, in a shared dormitory. I could barely even mas—”

“Don't need the details!” Hawke said quickly. “Just so I'm getting this straight, you left the Circle to...get laid?”

“Ideally I would find a lovely girl who wanted me all her own, but I had a few days and no luck. The templars were looking for me still, so I grew desperate. I found myself a whore. I just needed the money from my family, and then…” He swallowed. “I just want to know what it's like. She's beautiful and knows what she's doing. All I ask is to be given one night with her. She is at the bar, now. Then I will return to the Circle.”

“So...you don't want to be free?” Hawke asked.

“By the Maker, no! What would I do out there all on my own? I have no idea how to survive. In the Circle I get fed and clothed and—besides needing to do chores and practice spells—I can just relax the rest of the day. It is comfortable. I just wanted to have sex at least once, just to know…”

Varric had a hand firmly over his mouth to keep him from howling with laughter. Hawke smacked his back. He was still too obvious about it.

“Then, go and enjoy yourself, I guess. Meet me here when you're done?” Hawke said, regretting it the instant she said it.

“You don't...want a go too, do you?” Emile asked, turning on what she supposed he thought was charm.

“Hard pass.” She just needed a moment to think about what to do with him.

Varric stayed and actually convinced her to send him back. The Circle was awful, but his family had enough money and cared for him still. Harming Emile would only bring the de Launcet house Meredith’s door. He was protected there. If Emile barely knew how to buy himself a hooker for the night, there was no way he would be capable of running out in the wild on his own.

After Varric went to bed, it was just a little longer before Emile returned, standing a little taller than before. He greeted Hawke graciously and asked for her to accompany him back to the Gallows. With the stink of him, she hated it, but she still complied. Better to argue his case in person than trust the templars to leave him be.

Then it was off to Meredith to report. It was late, but not so late that Meredith would be out of her office, yet. At least not according to the templar who received Emile at the front of the Gallows.

Hawke wondered all the way to the office if she’d made the right choice in bringing Emile back. Maybe she would check for Orsino, too. She could ask him to look out for Emile as he readjusted. Make sure the templars weren't hard on him for leaving just to lose his virginity. It was a ridiculous enough reason that she didn't think he deserved any kind of punishment. Honestly, he shouldn't have needed to escape just for such a basic need.

She squashed the thought down as she stepped through the door to Meredith’s office. She needed to be more alert, not thinking of her libido and how good it had felt for Fenris to touch her. She really didn't need to be thinking of Fen at all.

“Ah, Champion. Good. I hear that one of the mages has returned to us. But what of the rest?” Meredith asked.

“Dead. They...struggled. We were given no choice.” If Hawke mentioned abominations and blood magic, Meredith would only tighten her hold on the mages of the Circle. Things were already bad enough.

“I see.” Meredith sounded displeased, but Hawke couldn't read her expression with her eyes fixed on the ground. “I am sorry to hear that.”

Hawke heard her neck crack as she lifted it suddenly. She didn't realize she was so stiff, but the jerking movement loosened her just enough to make a small sound.

Meredith was sorry? Since when did she have the capacity for pity or regret? Since when did she have an ounce of compassion?!

“You seem surprised,” Meredith said. “I know you think I am just some tyrant. I know what Orsino says of me and I know you listen. But you have not been here so long as I. You have not seen the length of my career; only the recent years.” She gestured to a chair. “Sit a moment, will you? I'd like to talk.”

Hawke hesitated, but ultimately saw no reason to decline. Besides, she was caught up in curiosity.

“When I was a child, I was a lot like you. Headstrong and determined. I thought I could take on the world. I had a family, like you. And I, too, had a sister. A sister with magic.”

Hawke blinked back her surprise. She remembered Tyr’s story of how his sister had been taken. How it drove him to be protective of other mages. Meredith’s story was going to be very different.

“When we learned, we didn't know what to do. I loved her dearly. I had been raised beside her. I knew what the Chantry dictated, as did my parents. But we couldn't let her go. We hid her, and her magic, for as long as we could. But we were not so lucky as you. The Free Marches are not so relaxed on their control of mages. Not as Ferelden is.

“When the templars found her, they threatened all of us as well. Myself and my mother and father. We had hidden an apostate in our home, so we were culpable. A templar raised his sword to strike down my mother. My sister did not stand down. I didn't know until that moment that she had allowed a demon to possess her body.

“She attacked with a furious bought of magic, wild and untamed. She burned the house, burned me, burned every templar in sight. My family died, but not because the templar killed them. My sister did, instead. We were lucky that the templars could dampen her abilities.

“When I watched her die, I did not feel for her. What love I had before was gone when she attacked. I lost my mother, and my father, but my sister I had lost years ago, when the magic came to fruition within her. I mourned them both, but only for a short time. Then, I sought out the templars.”

Hawke was uncertain what to think. What to say. She had come only to mention what had happened, and ask that Emile be treated well for he had returned of his own volition and did no blood magic. She didn't expect...this. Whatever purpose the story was meant to serve, Hawke knew it wouldn't.

Meredith wanted Hawke to understand her point of view, and Hawke did. That didn't mean she would ever agree. Not with Elsa standing just outside, asking Meredith’s permission to enter.

“Just a moment, Elsa. I should see the Champion out,” she said.

Hawke could not unclench her jaw.

“So you see, Hawke, I am trying to do for others what I wished had been done for me. To make it so magic is no longer a danger to ordinary people. Emilia was a sweet girl, and gentle, but magic changed that.”

“Just don't go out of your way to punish Emile de Launcet. He's young and just wanted a chance to live a little. It was impulsive and rash but he didn't hurt anyone. I don't think he's capable of it,” Hawke said. She ignored what Meredith was attempting to coax out of her. Some admission of magic's danger.

“I will assess the situation carefully, but will be certain to consider your advisement, Champion,” Meredith said. There was no clear indication of how true or untrue that statement was. “Elsa, please see serah Hawke to the docks. She will need to get a boat back to Lowtown.”

“Right away, Knight Commander. Please follow me, serah,” Elsa said in her usual monotone.

Hawke dutifully went to the entrance, failing to get a peek at whatever Elsa had in her arms to give to Meredith as it was handed over. She dismissed Elsa before the docks, insisting she knew the way herself. Elsa had probably been a nice enough girl, once upon a time, but now it was unsettling to be around her. With that blank face and voice, that sunburst seared onto her forehead…

Hawke just wanted to rush home and hold Bethany tight.


	46. Haunted Memories

Varric skimmed over yet another letter from Bartrand’s caretakers. Apparently, Bartrand was more agitated these days for some reason, which forced them to use restraints to keep anyone from getting hurt. He could no longer force-feed people lyrium, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to use his blunt nails to scratch at people.

The cost of Bartrand's care was stacking up, too. He needed constant attention, and healers every so often to study his condition and see if there was any way to heal his mind. Music helped. It wasn't the song he searched for, not the singing of the lyrium, but it soothed him more than silence could.

All of that was costing Varric a lot of coin. Which was part of why Hawke was coming over. She had offered before, but out of pride Varric had resisted splitting up more of his usual funds with her. She was his friend with the rags to riches story. She wasn't supposed to be the person he counted on for this shit.

Splitting up the Merrill fund was a good start. She had fewer run-ins with thugs, thanks to Isabela’s protective streak and Merrill's own improved self-sufficiency. The elven girl still didn't get real work unless she tagged along with Hawke, however, meaning her food needs were not being seen to without Varric.

Then there were the Carta payments and the needs of the merchant's guild. Oh sure, they only wanted “donations,” but he didn't want to incur their wrath when the charity pot ran empty. That he had to take care of on his own. Tying Hawke up in Dwarven business was messy.

She had offered to pay for Varric's room in the Hanged Man, too, but he couldn't accept that. Maybe she could pick up his tab every so often, but he was cutting back on his ale intake anyway.

Hawke already pitched in for Bartrand. She blamed herself for some of it. Sure she didn't say so out loud, but Varric knew. She had too good of a heart not to feel responsible. She was going to offer to give more towards that. He wasn't sure he would let her.

Especially not as he found another letter, regarding the house where Bartrand had committed the most heinous atrocities Varric had ever seen. It was from the person he'd attempted to sell it to. Something weird was happening there, and they needed help sorting it out before officially moving in.

He shook his head. So much for cutting back on drinking.

✖✖✖✖✖

It had been three years since Hawke had visited this house, and still it unsettled her. She supposed the contents of the letter Varric shared would have something to do with that. “Haunted” it said. By what?

Varric's suppositions we're along the lines of tears in the Veil and demon activity, so Anders was along for the ride yet again. In case of needed extra muscle, Tyr came along. Hawke invited Fenris as well, just in case. Besides, it had been a bit since she had gotten the chance to see him.

Hawke was weak, what could she say? Fenris made her feel safer.

The place was as awful as she remembered, though it had been tidied up some. At least enough that there were no dead bodies currently in the residence, no blood stains, and no more bits of lyrium laying about. Though the problem became obvious quite soon after stepping inside.

Varric complained of whispering voices and someone singing. Tyr said he thought he saw someone in the corner of his eye wearing a long cloak. Then all of them watched as a clay pot was flung across the room by an unseen force, shattering when it struck the opposite wall.

“Okay, so it's definitely haunted. Cross 'bold-faced lie’ off possible explanations for the letter,” Hawke said.

“Damn, and I was really hoping for that one,” Varric said. “Let's see if we can find a cause. Oh and Blondie, let us know if you...sense anything, I guess?”

Anders groaned. “That isn't exactly how these things work, but yeah, I can tell that something is wrong. But it's all around us. This place is covered in bad memories and lyrium influence, not to mention Bartrand's contact with red lyrium. Pinpointing the source of this would take a long time using magic alone.”

“Let's hope we don't need to do that, then,” Hawke said.

The next room had floating books swirling in their own little vortex. Hawke swatted at one and they all came tumbling down. Varric heard more singing, and charged ahead.

They found themselves at last in the main hall when an odd ringing filled Hawke's ears. Judging by the way some of the others covered theirs with their hands, it wasn't only her. Shades rose with an odd look to them.

They weren't their usual shadowy selves, but more solid and fleshy. This only made their slug-like forms more disgusting to look at. In the center of the room, a demon of rage appeared, with a similar strangeness. It also became clear that the demon was the source of the ringing sound, as it intensified with the monster making an appearance.

“Boy am I glad I brought the burly guy along,” Varric said, watching as Tyr rushed a Shade with his axe.

“And Fen,” Hawke commented.

Fenris did the same as Tyr, hurtling towards the demons with his weapon drawn. He cleaved into the fleshy skin of a Shade, hacking into the thing until it fell. It faded after a moment, as they were used to, but it's more physical form gave it the appearance of melting into the floor.

Hawke made a face, sticking her tongue out as if she might retch. They were nastier than usual, and she couldn't quite see a reason for it. She took up her bow and started to fire at the things dutifully, but placed herself close to Anders.

“Is the Veil torn like Varric guessed?” Hawke asked him.

“I think so, for these things to appear. But it doesn't feel like it should. And the singing is… It's beginning to hurt my head,” Anders said.

“You hear the singing Varric does?”

“I suppose? Unless there is another mysterious singing that I'm hearing. I think I'd find that more troubling, actually.”

Hawke agreed, but didn't say so out loud. For now, the both of them needed to keep their focus on the fighting. Varric was already sending volleys of bolts at the rage demon, drawing it's attention before Tyr swung at it.

Hawke decided to support Fenris, instead. He was still picking off the Shades one by one. She nudged Anders, telling him to give Fen a boost of energy if he could. Anders nodded, casting a spell that spread from where he stood. Even Hawke felt the change, making her attention sharper and giving her the energy she needed to fight.

She had never fired arrows so quickly. Maker, did it feel good! She gave Anders a thumbs up as she continued to shoot.

Then Fenris took down the last Shade and Hawke switched targets. She fired with care in places she knew rage demons to be weak against in the past, but this thing’s defenses were different and stronger. It wasn't until Hawke noticed the way it's arm hung to cover a part of its body that she realized it was protecting itself.

But why? More importantly, why there? It didn't seem like an important place at first, but if the demon was guarding itself, there had to be something about it.

“Anders,” she said, pointing at the demon, “do you think you can aim for that arm? I want to get it to move it.”

Anders nodded, his eyes surely registering the same thing Hawke had as they twitched and focused on the limb. He readied a spell of ice to launch at the lava-like creature. It struck the demon’s arm as planned, making it cry out in pain and pull its arm back from its body.

Hawke had an arrow ready, this one a bit thicker and with a heftier arrowhead. It burst straight through to the other side of the demon, and seemed to drag something from within it along its path. Varric noticed this, too, and shot a bolt in the same place moments after Hawke had.

Whatever it was that was embedded in the demon's body fell out with a clatter. The demon went down with it, unable to sustain a form any longer. Whether this was due to the group’s attacks or tied to the object, none could say.

Varric was first to go and inspect the thing. Instant recognition covered his features as he lifted up a chunk of glowing red lyrium. The light reflected in his eyes as he stared at it.

“He kept some,” Varric muttered. Hawke had to come closer to hear him as he repeated himself, “Bartrand kept some of this shit, the rotten bastard! Couldn't just be sensible and get rid of the whole damn thing, could he? No, he had to keep a piece of it for himself. I bet he was looking for this all over the place before he…”

Varric grew so frustrated that Hawke worried he would chuck the lyrium on the floor and make it shatter into smaller, less manageable pieces. She didn't want any of it, but if they were going to dispose of it, she felt it better to do so properly. Instead, however, Varric only started to cling to the piece more, his grip tightening around it.

“I'm sorry, Varric,” Hawke said. “We should destroy this, right? Anders, do you know how to—”

“No, wait!” Varric said, scrambling away a bit. “I need this. It's from the same thing that made Bartrand sick, so it may be the only thing to make him better.”

“You want to just give that thing back to your brother, the one who attempted to murder us and mutilated his own staff?” Fenris said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I want to give it to someone to study it. If we know why it sings like this, why it calls to us...him…” Varric grunted and held the lyrium to his chest. “Hawke, please. I need to use it to save Bartrand. You made me keep him alive. You made me care for him. Let me have this!”

Hawke was alarmed. She'd known the whole thing with Bartrand was hard for Varric, but he'd never been accusatory. Not towards her, at least. This was unlike him. If anything, Varric had only ever tried to keep Hawke from blaming herself out of guilt! He ought to have been the last person saying such things.

And there were other concerns. “The song you heard is from that thing?” Hawke asked.

“Yes,” Varric said, staring down at it. “Must be the same one Bartrand heard. Which means it could show us how to get him to stop hearing it. Hawke, don't you see? This is my only chance of actually getting my brother back! I have to do this!”

He wasn't thinking clearly. He wasn't, but he still had a point. What could be done about a wound if you couldn't see it? How could you mend a broken thing you didn't understand? Even Anders, powerful of a mage as he was, could only grant Bartrand a few moments of clarity. But with people studying it in a safe environment…

“Promise me you won't keep it for yourself,” Hawke said.

“You can't be serious,” Anders said. “That thing is far too dangerous. We don't even know how its magic works!”

“For once, I agree,” Fenris said. “I will support your decision if this is it, but think on it a moment. Someone else could do the same as Bartrand did with this in their hands.”

“This is a much smaller piece,” Hawke argued. “The idol itself is larger. This alone barely gave off a sound. Only two of us even heard it, and one is a mage with a direct connection to a Fade spirit. It's not as strong and we know what it can do, now. We won't be as susceptible.”

Fenris thinned his lips, but nodded. He trusted Hawke. This was up to her.

“I don't know…” Tyr said. “Varric seems off.”

“I'm _fine._ I just need to get out of this place. Bad memories,” Varric insisted.

“He won't be holding onto it for long,” Hawke said. “It needs to go to the right people to be studied. If a cure can be found, I'd bet it's a dwarven genius who will find our answer. They have most of the knowledge on lyrium, after all. Even if this is a weird kind of the stuff, it's better in their hands than ours.”

Varric nodded emphatically. He needed Hawke's approval.

Tyr didn't argue further, wary as he looked. Hawke couldn't blame him. This chunk of lyrium was fresh out of a demon’s insides, among all the other reasons they had to distrust it. Any reasonable person should not cling to it as Varric was doing. Hawke would have wrenched the thing away from him if she wasn't terrified of it. Not that she would ever admit that.

They followed Varric out, with each person splitting off as they went to return home. In the end, only Varric and Hawke remained as they made it to her place. The lyrium piece was securely tucked into a pouch which had previously held a few slips of paper with ideas Varric had for new stories. Those were now crumpled up in one of his pockets, to be emptied onto a table once he reached the Hanged Man.

“Thank you for letting me keep that thing, Hawke. I'm...sorry about some of the things I said when I was holding onto it. I think I kind of lost my senses for a bit, back there. But I'm okay now, I swear. I haven't heard the singing since we left the place,” Varric said.

Hawke smiled softly. “Don't worry, I knew you weren't yourself. I am super relieved to hear that you're back to your regular old Varric self, though. You had me getting nervous,” Hawke said, with a chuckle she hoped wasn't too insincere.

“Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I promise you, I'm going to take every precaution in handling that thing from now on. I have to write to a few contacts to see if they can help make a special container for it. One with big locks. Then I need to find out who I know that specializes in lyrium when it's raw like that,” Varric said. He ran a hand down his face. “I thought it was children who are supposed to inherit the problems of their parents, not siblings fixing their brother's life.”

“We never did get to talk expenses,” Hawke said. “We rushed out so fast.”

Varric put up a hand. “Let's save that for another day, at this point. I'm exhausted and I don't think I'm up for crunching numbers.”

“I can respect that. We can talk later this week, then.”

“Yeah. Sounds good, Hawke.”

“Thought so, Var-bear.” She leaned over and gave his forehead a little kiss.

“Don't you go falling for me now. I don't know who you can run to if I'm the one who breaks your heart!” Varric said with a laugh.

“Like that could ever happen. I know you too well for that,” Hawke said. She was grinning.

He was her best friend, through thick and thin. Maybe once upon a time she would have considered him in that way; he was attractive enough. Now, though, with all the years of history they had? She couldn't dream of it.

“Six whole years,” Varric said, his mind going the same way of nostalgia as Hawke's was. “It may not be to the day, but six years ago I was just some strange guy on the street saving you from a pickpocket and asking you to come to the Deep Roads with me. Now look at us. And look at you! All that you've accomplished here.”

Hawke glanced back at her home. It may have been hers all along, just waiting to be claimed. It was still hard to believe. It should have belonged to Leandra for longer. Now, it was just her home with Bodahn, Sandal, Orana, and Bethany. She was happy there, despite everything.

“I haven't been alone,” she said with a smirk. “You've been a good friend to me, Varric. The best friend. I just hope you've gotten something out of all this, other than some stories.”

“Stories are what I live for. They're worth a lot more than coin, though I won't say holding a few sovereigns in my fist ever hurt me. I just meant to say, I'm proud of you. You know you mean a lot to me, don't you?”

Hawke laughed with embarrassment. “Are you dying, Var-bear? Am I? What's with the sappy speeches?”

“Oh, I don't know. You remember how your brother nearly killed you and is now falling apart and think 'there goes the last of the Tethras family.’ But then you stop and realize that the name doesn't mean anything. Real family are the ones who are there for you. You, Hawke, you're not just my friend. You're like the cool cousin I never had. You're family.”

Hawke couldn't help but hug him, then. She was prepared to cry a little, the bittersweet sentiment really getting to her eyes. She held him tight for a long moment before he patted her and softly asked to be released.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hawke said, sniffling. “It's just… I know how you feel.”

“Say, uh, I don't want to bring this piece of bad juju over to your place, but would you mind coming down to the Hanged Man with me? I don't feel like being alone, tonight.”

Hawke nodded. She hurried inside for just a moment, leaving behind her bow and quiver of arrows, then let Bethany know that she was staying with Varric for the evening. Bodahn sent her away with some food for the night (simple bread, meat, and cheese) before Hawke left again and met Varric at the door. She took his hand, happy for the comfort of touch as they walked to Lowtown.


	47. Taking Chances

Merrill finished her tasks for the day quicker than usual. She had taken to helping the Alienage elves more often in the past few years. It was obvious that the humans weren't going to give much aid to them after the Qunari attack, so Merrill took what little knowledge of healing she had and applied it as best she could.

The rest of the time she used her magic to lift things too heavy to do without it, stopped any fires that started from candles people had forgotten and left to burn, and aided in various crafts that she knew how to help with. She accepted no payment, but was invited frequently for dinner by various families.

Feynriel’s mother chuckled at the name Merrill had made for herself. “The Helpful Halla” was what the children had dubbed her. Like some sort of storied hero. She wasn't sure why she was called a halla when she bore no resemblance to the creatures, until Arianni spelled it out for her.

“You're Dalish. Halla are considered Dalish. The way they see it, you're more like the halla than you are like those of the Alienage. But they do love you,” she said.

“I suppose that makes sense, sort of. I should be going, though. It's already late,” Merrill said.

Arianni nodded, looking a little glum. “I do so appreciate your company. Ever since Feynriel left, this place is so quiet.”

“I promise I will visit again, soon!” Merrill said. Honestly, it was nice to have another ex-Dalish friend to talk to. They understood each other in ways that others did not.

Even though Arianni could have gone back and joined the clan any time she wanted, she never had. Perhaps it no longer felt right. Merrill certainly understood that.

She went home, intending to study the mirror a bit before turning in, but her plans were already thrown off by the presence of Isabela. Elves stared at her as they passed. She was flat-eared and stood out even among other humans. Especially with that new hat of hers.

“I don't suppose you're here on Hawke's behalf, this time?” Merrill said.

“No. Still selfishly coming to see you for myself. Are you going to let me in?” Isabela asked.

Merrill held her breath for a moment, then exhaled slow as she went for the lock to open up the door. She pushed it aside and let Isabela go through first.

Despite all her bitterness, Merrill still made enough tea for two. She even offered up her jar of honey, which was dangerously low. Isabela preferred it without, anyway—a fact Merrill hated to remember. She hated to remember every little detail she knew about Isabela, from the ways she stretched her back and legs when she couldn't quite sleep to her favorite drinks and drinking songs to go with them. Merrill had wanted to forget these things, forget Isabela entirely and move on. Her presence back in Kirkwall made that impossible.

“Well, go ahead,” Merrill said. Whatever apology or excuse Isabela was going to give this time didn't matter. She might as well just get it done with.

“Just like that, huh? You've already heard all I've had to say. I could grovel at your feet for a week and get nowhere, I know that. And I know why. You haven't said your piece. I said outside that I was being selfish again, and I am, but it's also about time I stop yammering on and just...listen to you,” Isabela said. “I thought about it and of course you can't forgive me. You haven't actually told me off, yet. Not really. So I am here so you can let me have it. Do your worst. I promise I can take it. I've heard it all.”

Merrill stared for a moment. Isabela was serious, no doubt about that by the look in her eye, but why? Why was Merrill worth all this effort when Isabela could have a much easier time landing herself in the bed of a stranger?

Merrill didn't doubt that she had slept with people since the Qunari attack. She was sure Isabela had bedded people since coming back to Kirkwall, too. But she gave up so many evenings to sit here with Merrill, talking through the mistakes she had made. Talking through what had gone wrong. Talking.

Maybe it was just for Hawke, but then why? Anders and Fenris still openly disliked one another, but Hawke kept bringing the two of them out on errands. Though, to be fair, those two hadn't slept together, to Merrill's knowledge.

A long silence passed before Merrill made the decision to take Isabela up on the offer she had given. So she vented.

Everything from the moment Merrill knew Isabela had gone, to the brief and stressful return, to the second departure was covered. She had been lonesome and scared and so vulnerable, and saying so out loud brought all the emotions back. Merrill had to squeeze her fists tight to keep from getting to the point of tears. How would it look if she cried now?

“The worst part is, it stopped being just for fun. I really care about you, Isabela. I think I was even… I'm pretty sure I… I was in love.”

Creators, the heat that rose to her cheeks was nigh unbearable. The fact that she was still on her feet was remarkable enough, a fact she could confirm as her sight was fixed on the floor. Merrill had the slightest moment of relief from saying it out loud before the panic rushed back in. If she had wanted to be rid of Isabela, this was a surefire way to do it. Except Merrill knew herself, and knew that wasn't the intention.

“Oh…” Isabela said, exhaling slowly. “It… I should have figured, I suppose. The way we were, it—” She groaned in frustration.

Merrill snapped her eyes back up, wondering what she'd done wrong. But Isabela had laid down her hat and ran her hands over her coarse, dark hair. Merrill knew her well enough to read the moment correctly. Isabela was annoyed only with herself.

Landing herself on a chair, Isabela leaned her elbows on her knees, mumbling.

“What was that?” Merrill said.

Isabela lifted her head a bit. “I'm sorry?” She said it more like a question. “I should tell you about myself more, Kitten. You don't know who I am, or everything I've done.”

“I know.”

“You aren't understanding. This is before the sailing and the crew and the tattoo on my ass. Back in Rivain. My family was decently wealthy, and had me married off to a man with even more money. Older, though not by much.”

Merrill sat while Isabela told her story. She could tell this was going to be a long one.

Isabela continued, “He was kind, at first. I thought I might love him. Then he started to… _expect_ things of me. He wanted a meek little housewife. I'm ashamed to say but I did try. But then he put the pressure on with kids and meals and not going wherever I pleased… That was when I met Zevran. He showed me the wild life I knew I longed for, then killed my husband so we could run off together.

“I learned to sail, got a ship and a crew, and then I was free. But I was so free that I was also aimless. A ship and a crew require money, and I knew how to sneak and steal, so we did. We became pirates, and before I knew it that was just...who I was. You know the rest.”

Merrill had so many questions. And she didn't bother holding back.

“You were married? How old were you then? Wait, how old are you now? Zevran was the assassin Hawke helped save, wasn't he? He was your lover, or just a friend? Did you really try to be some kind of...housewife?”

Isabela laughed, watching Merrill struggle to make the last few syllables as she ran out of breath. “Slow down, kitten. Yes, I was married. Zevran was my lover, but it was never more than that. I did try to change for my husband, and I regret every minute I wasted on that rotten bastard. And my age will remain a secret until the day I die, if I have the choice.”

“I was just wondering if you're much older than I am. So many years of experience…”

“Not as many as you may think.”

Merrill forced herself to refocus. “So, why did you tell me all this?”

Isabela sighed. “The one time I thought I might be in love it came round and bit me in the ass. After that, I gave up on it. It may exist, but I was sure it wasn't for people like me. You stick around and eventually something hurts you. Except this time, I wound up being the jerk who left you. And I am sorry.”

Merrill stared at her hands. “Then where does that leave us?”

“I haven't the foggiest clue,” Isabela said. She rocked up off the chair and onto the balls of her feet, swooping her hat back up from the table to rest it on her head again. “I think we might get to decide that together.”

Merrill pursed her lips. Her teeth lightly chewed the inside of her cheek.

“We could...start over?” she said softly. She almost didn't want Isabela to hear. Then she couldn't tell Merrill “no.”

“Is that really what you want? I could fuck up again. It's the only thing I'm good at, besides theiving and sex,” Isabela said. Her laugh was less convincing with all that Merrill now knew. When was Isabela not trying to be what someone else expected of her?

“Yes,” Merrill said, fervent as she stood and took Isabela’s warm hands in her own. “Yes, I want that. I want to know if I was right about how I felt. And if you break my heart again, at least you can make it a clean cut.”

She smiled to show that there were no more hard feelings, but if it was convincing, Isabela didn't reflect that.

“Then perhaps I should do this properly,” Isabela said. “And woo you like a lady.”

Merrill shook her head. “Let's just be ourselves. Besides, it's late, and I'd rather just lie next to you and fall asleep.” A yawn crept up as if to prove how tired she felt.

“If that's what you want?” Isabela said.

Merrill nodded, stretching her arms. She lead the way to the bedroom, and trusted that Isabela would follow. No sex, no passionate stolen kisses. The two just went to curl up and rest.

✖✖✖✖✖

Bethany couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like this. So much that her cheeks hurt. Sebastian was just so kind to everyone around. They stopped a few times on their walk to help some elderly gentleman or send some bully scattering from a crying child.

Even after all that, he made time to stop at a stall and buy her an elegant blue hair clip. Her black hair was so much shorter, now. She knew her mother would chastise her for cutting it like “a boy’s hair,” but it was easier to manage like this. Plus, if she looked in the mirror at just the right angle, she could trick her eyes into seeing a young Carver. She still missed that other half of hers.

And oh, he probably would have hated Sebastian. He always got so suspicious of people who were kind in excess like Seb could be. Carver would be convinced it was a tactic to hide some dark motive. Even more so because their elder sister befriended Sebastian, first.

She smiled to herself, the private joke a thing she thought about sharing until she noticed where they were standing. “Oh,” Bethany breathed. “Home already?”

Sebastian nodded, though he looked about as sad about it as Bethany felt.

“I promised I would check in on Fenris. He insisted I didn't have to, but with how he's been of late, I would hate to neglect him. He's been particularly stressed.”

“My sister said he missed his last writing lesson,” Bethany said. He was reading so well, and insisted on learning to write as well two or three years back. Almost as soon as he was comfortable with reading, in fact. He was a man on a mission, and according to Hawke he was doing quite well.

“That is odd for him. If he continues crafting those letters…”

Sebastian only barely caught himself from saying more. Bethany could see guilt in his eyes as he glanced sideways back at her.

“What letters?” Bethany asked.

“I am not at liberty to tell, I'm afraid. If all goes as planned, you may know soon enough. But I am sworn to secrecy until the matter is resolved,” Sebastian said. He looked like he would start sweating if she pressed more.

And she did. “What matter?! Does this have anything to do with Sarah? Please, Sebastian, you know how she cares for him. Think if… Think if it were you and I.” She batted her lashes to make sure it hit home.

It nearly worked, given his hesitation. But not quite.

“I'm sorry, Miss Bethany. I simply cannot. They are not the same as we are. I do hope that doesn't affect our own relationship?”

Bethany gave him a gentle smile. Sebastian looked so scared, for a moment. He doubted that she would be so forgiving when forced to choose between him and her own sister. But the choice was easier than Bethany herself even suspected.

She leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek. She had done it a few times before, but never before did she linger the way she did now. Slow, they had promised each other. They would take it slow. Sometimes it was hard to remind herself of that promise and not press her body against his and plant her mouth on his mouth.

For now, this left her skin burning from the contact. Her lips tingled and the skin of her elbow—where he had, for just a moment, so tenderly laid his hand—still felt warm from Sebastian’s touch.

“Don't worry. I trust that you have a good reason to keep this from me and my sister. Just promise you won't keep us in the dark forever?” Bethany said.

“I swear to you, the moment I am able, I will share the truth of this matter. If you don't first hear it from Fenris himself,” Sebastian said with a small bow. It was not a mocking gesture, but a genuine princely habit of his. When he made promises, he bowed. When he left, he kissed her hand. Every time without fail.

The skin there burned, too.

✖✖✖✖✖

He hated not to tell her, but Bethany was so close to Hawke. Fenris would never forgive Sebastian if Hawke knew about the letters to Tevinter too soon. Or the purpose behind it all.

Honestly, Sebastian would have missed today, if not for a crucial update from the last time he visited. The last letter Fenris penned was, at last, addressed directly to his sister. He had learned her name, what she did for work, and where she lived. Which meant he could actually be certain a letter that was sent got to the intended recipient.

Sebastian was delighted, while Fenris seemed mostly terrified. What if he got no response? What if she ignored his letter, tearing it and throwing it into the flames? What if she just asked him to send money like those infamous Antivan prince scams? What if she insisted she had no brother? What if she did come to Kirkwall and they didn't get along at all?

Fenris had shouted most of those questions at Sebastian after a lot of wine. It was meant to settle his nerves, but only wound up agitating him further. It was a good thing that he quickly grew tired after all that, letting Sebastian lead him to bed.

Still, even knowing all that, telling Bethany was a temptation. Everything about her was. Her lips her neck her arms her… he dared not go further. He had kept things slow more for himself than for her. It was too easy to forget his vows when he looked at her. Especially now that she was no longer stuck in Circle mage robes that hid her figure.

Even a simple kiss on her lips could be the end of his self control, but he knew his limits and tested them with the greatest of care. Regardless, he would not trade time with Bethany for anything in the world. She was brilliant and beautiful. Forget just a single beam of sunshine; she felt like the whole sun.

Finding himself at Fenris’ door made Sebastian stop waxing poetic in his mind. Especially since that was still Hawke's sister.

There was shouting and a clammer inside, which Sebastian heard the moment he even cracked the door. Expecting some robbers, he readied his bow and nocked an arrow, keeping it pointed on the ground just ahead until he could see a good target. He wanted to call out to Fenris, but that would give up his element of surprise.

He snuck in careful as he could, only to see that Fenris was indeed alone. He had smashed another bottle of wine (only half-empty by the look of it) and one of the few ugly vases Hawke hadn't smashed with Fenris as target practice. There was a spot of blood on the floor, apparently from a cut on Fenris’ foot. It was only hard to catch against the sight of the red wine.

“What happened here? Are you alright? I have some bandages—”

Fenris stopped Sebastian, holding up a letter in his hand. “She responded. She is already on her way. The voyage she suspected would arrive the fifth day of Ferventis. Today is the fourth of the month. I mentioned the Hanged Man in my letter… Why I did that is beyond my understanding. She wants to meet there, after she arrives. My sister is going to be at the Hanged Man _tomorrow._ The sister I still have only the faintest recollection of, half of which is likely imagined! I can't simply go and behave as if this is ordinary. I have had years to think of what to say and yet my mind continuously draws blanks. And Hawke…”

Sebastian watched as Fenris finally softened. The thought of Hawke was an anxious subject as well, but she was still easier to think of than a stranger who was his sister, it seemed. Sebastian put a firm hand on Fenris’ shoulder, and gently lead him to a seat.

“We need not answer all these questions right away. We can take this each step at a time. First, please let me look at your foot?” Sebastian said.

Fenris frowned, but lifted his leg a little so Seb could spot the tiny piece of glass that had found it's way under his skin. A small droplet of blood ran down the ball of his foot as he moved it. Fenris winced.

Sebastian used care in extracting the glass shard, then wrapped up the foot nice and snug. Not too much so he could lose circulation, but the wound would be protected and the bandages wouldn't slip. Then he found another chair and sat opposite from Fenris to examine the letter himself.

The tone of her words were pleasant enough, difficult as that could be to understand in writing. However, she hadn't written much. Sebastian kept this thought to himself, but he did wonder if that was a sign of her own fears for this meeting. To have been over eager would have been a concern of naivete, but this was such hesitance that Sebastian thought she might scurry off like a rabbit spotted by a hunter. Not that she could realize Fenris was no threat to her at first sight.

“You should meet with her. After all this work and time, you can learn something about your past. That is all you've told me you wanted for years. Don't over think the matter. Go and introduce yourself like a new person. Surely Varania can adjust,” Sebastian said.

Fenris shook his head, still pessimistic. “She is expecting her brother. I don't even know who that is. Surely not a murderer with so much blood on his hands that he hates to close his eyes at night for what the dreams bring. The child she remembers may have been completely different from me.”

“It will not go as easy as saying hello and the pieces falling into place, no, but it also is not so difficult as to be impossible. You have beaten insurmountable odds in the past. You escaped from life as a slave. You found a place that you could stay in for six years, perhaps more. You learned to read and write so well you read books that even I can't wrap my head around. All of that matters. You aren't the boy Varania remembers, but you wouldn't be even if you had kept your memories. People grow and change all the time. If she is true family, she will get to know you all over again, and have patience while doing so. Because you, Fenris, are worth that.”

Fenris was still grinding his teeth, pacing and frowning and stressed beyond belief. There wasn't much Sebastian could do other than try to console him. And there was another question he had in mind that he wasn't sure Fenris had even thought of.

“What about Hawke?” Sebastian said.

Fenris stopped pacing, and his mouth opened just a bit. But no sound escaped, so he swallowed hard as if to repair whatever fault was occurring in his throat.

“I'm not certain what you mean,” he said. His voice was quieter, gentler, but still with a sort of fear to it.

“Will you tell her now that you've gotten the letter? Perhaps she can go with you to make it easier. She is kind and good at breaking the ice in a room,” Sebastian said. “You may feel more at ease with a familiar face or two around. I would also go, if you asked.”

Fenris’s eyes moved across the floor as he contemplated. Patience was necessary in moments like this. If Sebastian rushed the decision, Fenris would feel pressured and either shout or simply kick him out before he could make up his mind. Which would increase his stress on the matter and make it more difficult to decide.

He sat with Fenris, who finally found a seat for himself, and waited until he heard one word.

“Perhaps.”

It was better than a flat denial.

✖✖✖✖✖

“They said something about her heading towards the Wounded Coast. Not a good place for a noble girl to be by herself,” Aveline said, leading Hawke along.

“No good for anyone to be. Ever. At all,” Hawke said. “Did her father mention why she ran off?”

Aveline sighed heavily. “Something about finding true love. I doubt she would discover it in this place.”

“Probably not,” Merrill agreed. She was a little lighter, today. She didn't seem quite so angry and tired anymore.

“Who knows? Shit happens,” Varric says. “But yeah, it usually ends badly if you meet in seedy locations like this anyway.”

“Could be a forbidden love,” Merrill suggested. “They have to meet in secret locations so her family never finds out!”

“Then why tell her father where she's going and why?” Aveline said.

Merrill hummed curiously, giving it serious thought. She had no answer though. Neither did Hawke. And honestly, she was mostly just hoping the girl wasn't hurt when they found her.

Hurt, no, but she did end up being terrified and surrounded by bandits. Hawke thought, with a grim expression, that she still technically had gotten her wish.

“What are you doing out here on your own, sweetheart?” a sleezy-looking bandit said.

“Nothing to do with you, numb nuts!” Hawke said, sneaking up behind him to deliver a swift kick between his legs. It felt apt to give him a wound to match what she shouted at him.

Aveline, Varric, and Merrill took care of the rest. They were easy pickings, no challenge for the seasoned fighters. The noble girl was thankful, shaking each of their hands personally.

“You have done me a great kindness. I will ask that my love send you gold as thanks when I reach Tevinter,” the girl said.

Hawke stared. “You met someone from Tevinter? Is this the new scam, Varric? No more Antivan princes?”

Varric shrugged. “Never heard of any Lord of Tevinter scam. Could be real. Or...could be as fake as it sounds. What did he do, send letters asking for money to help him get home after getting lost in the Free Marches?”

The girl just laughed, delighted by all of this. “No, no, silly man. Feynriel came to me in my dreams. And he is no lord. Though he studies under a great master of magic. He said he could show me everything I ever wanted in my dreams. And I have fallen utterly in love with him! So I've planned to surprise him by traveling to Tevinter and taking him by surprise! Won't he be happy to see me?”

Hawke kept on staring. “Feynriel? Half-elf, about this tall, pale hair in a braid?”

“Oh he didn't have a braid, but otherwise, yes. He had his hair down in flowing waves of ivory. He says his elven ancestry makes it so light as it is,” the girl said.

“He never mentioned you when he wrote me,” Hawke said, puzzled. That little Casanova was wooing women in his sleep! There was no telling if this noble girl was the only one, either. “Listen, I know where to find him exactly. But do me a favor and don't try to get there alone. Roads can be dangerous, even populated trade routes, and you barely look like you have the supplies to last you. If you must go, hire yourself some help and bring along more food.”

“Would you four consider working for me? If you know my Feynriel, it will make things even easier!”

“I kind of can't leave,” Hawke said, rubbing the back of her head. “I'm the Champion of Kirkwall and I have business and family here.”

“Oh, well then. Perhaps you can point me in the direction of proper help?”

Aveline stepped in. “Let me get you home, first. Your father is worried sick and asked me personally to find you. Then,” she stopped to glare at Hawke, “we can see about hiring guards and a carriage.”

The girl didn't argue, though she did pout a bit at the fact that she was getting ushered back into Kirkwall. Hawke would have to be having a talk with Feynriel's mother after they got back. A letter to the boy himself couldn't hurt, either.

When she saw Sebastian rushing towards her, she knew all of that would have to wait. She had barely gotten into Hightown when she spotted his shining armor.

“Come with me, please, Hawke. Fenris needs to speak with you. Urgently,” Seb said.

Hawke didn't even hesitate. She lead the way with Sebastian and Varric close behind, letting Aveline and Merrill take care of the girl. Bethany was already waiting outside the estate for them.

“Varric, too?” she asked.

Sebastian stared down at the dwarf as he gave a little wave. “It's part of the story. I can't miss it!”

“Don't worry. He's like my eternal plus one. Fen gets it,” Hawke insisted.

Sebastian just sighed, pushing through the door and charging ahead. Whatever was going on, it was big and absolutely could not wait. Which made Hawke very, very nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, we're gettin' to it!!!


	48. Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Just started a new job and I'm actually only posting this because I also happened to get sick on my third week of work. OTL
> 
> BUT. WE'RE HERE.

It was unfair that Hawke walked into Fenris’ room with that light sheen of sweat, looking as beautiful as Fenris ever remembered. He wasn't supposed to get flustered like this when other things were going on, but he did. Yet, she was also such a comfort. Sebastian had been right to suggest bringing Hawke along. He couldn't imagine going without her.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“Do you remember Danarius’ student, Hadriana? She was not lying, after all. I have a sister in Tevinter, by the name of Varania. I have spent the last three years writing to any contact I had, finding any little connection I could, and I found her. She's not a slave, but an assistant to a tailor. I don't know much more than that, but she is here, now, in Kirkwall. I told her of the Hanged Man and she would like to meet me there.”

Hawke's expression ran the gamut of anxious to thrilled, then back to concern. “Isn't this good news? She's family. You can finally reunite.”

“Yes, but—” Fenris stopped and looked at Sebastian behind her. “I am not certain that it will go well. A lot has changed and I have no memory of her. I wanted to ask you, along with Sebastian and your sister, to join me.” Then he noticed another figure at the door. “...and Varric.”

“I'll behave, I swear,” Varric said, before moving away from the doorway to avoid Fenris in case his mood changed.

“Of course I'll come with you, Fen,” Hawke said, touching his upper arm gently. “Anything you need. I can stand in the back for support or talk to her myself if you want. It's your call.”

He allowed her hand to settle there on his arm. He always wanted more of her touch, even chaste as this.

“Thank you, Hawke. I...could not imagine doing this without you,” Fenris said. He felt like a magnet, almost going to lean on her before remembering they were not alone. Chastising himself, he pulled away from her hand. “She may be there already. We should go right away.”

Hawke nodded. She did not sadden as she sometimes would when he moved from her. She must have understood.

“May I ask,” Bethany said, shuffling herself into the room, “why would you like to have me along?”

Fenris blushed a little. He could feel the heat of his ears and knew they were turning red, probably along with his cheeks. It wasn't just because she was Hawke’s sister—the blushing or the invitation—but knowing that had been a piece of it was a bit embarrassing.

“I thought, perhaps, it would be good to have a mage that I trust in. Views of mages in Tevinter can be very different from here. If she has seen that I am not so hateful...not as much as I once was, my sister may be more understanding. And you were helpful when I was first getting used to Kirkwall.”

Bethany beamed. She looked up at Sebastian, a silent conversation passing between the two. He must have heard from her that she used to be the one who cleaned the place up so Fenris didn't injure himself or become sickened by the smell of things rotting and wasting away.

Hawke made a small noise. Fenris saw she was looking down at the bandage on his foot from the previous day.

“It's nothing,” he insisted all too quickly.

“He cut his foot. It was small. I helped to wrap it so he wouldn't get some sort of infection. I promise, Hawke, it's nothing to worry about,” Sebastian said. Always coming to the rescue, that man.

Hawke exhaled. “Okay. No more delays. Let's go.” She smiled back at Fenris before hurrying to the door, leading the way for all of them as they got down to Lowtown.

✖✖✖✖✖

The Hanged Man was abnormally quiet. Hawke inspected every corner for familiar faces, but found none. The word around the grapevine was that Isabela had a more permanent residence with Merrill, which Hawke hoped was good news. Anything but another heartache in the making. But even other folks she tended to see having a pint and relaxing this time of day were absent.

That just spoke to how often (too often) Hawke came down here. But it also seemed unusual.

They were quickly approached by a woman about Fenris’ age and height, though just a bit older and taller. Her hair was not the stark white of Fen’s, but a deep black, closer to the color of his brows. It was the eyes that were unmistakable. Hawke knew that olive green so well, her heart actually jumped a little just to see how perfectly they matched.

This was Varania. Fenris’ long lost sister.

It was no trick or scam. No one could pull off a look so perfectly similar yet different enough to be her own person. Hawke suddenly wondered which features they got from their mother, and which ones came from their father. Did he have any other living relatives? Did she have stories of Fenris as a child? Hawke wanted to know absolutely everything.

“It really is you,” Varania said breathlessly, breaking the silence Hawke had barely noticed under the noise in her head. “Leto. I didn't believe it at first. I got the letter and I was sure it was a lie, but I wanted to believe so much that I came to see for myself. And here you are.”

“What...did you call me?” Fenris asked.

“Leto? Your name. You don't...remember that, do you?” Varania lowered her gaze. She had sounded hurt by this, even though it was not at all Fenris’ fault. More bizarre than that, she sounded _angry._

“No. I'm sorry,” Fenris said, and meant it.

“So am I,” she murmured.

And then they were surrounded. Tevinter armed guards and a few young mages stood poised to attack at a moment's notice. Hawke, without thinking, moved herself so that she stood between Varania and Fenris.

He was so still. Hawke glanced back and knew he had not moved an inch. Not his eyes, not his hands, not his feet.

Finally, Fenris looked up, his face twisting in pure hatred. Hawke followed his gaze to a man at the top of the steps, who descended slowly. His robes had the elegant sheen of fine silks, the decorations on it so ornate that her Ferelden tastes were strongly opposed. Simple and bold was much more their fashion. His hair was a dignified salt and pepper look, but his sneer was anything but dignified.

He had a hateable face. Not necessarily ugly, though Hawke wouldn't say he was attractive either. Just hateable. Something about the coldness in his light eyes.

“Danarius,” Fenris said, half a growl in his throat.

“I see you've found yourself a new master, Little Wolf. Unsurprising. You were once so obedient, I didn't believe you could kick the habit. Not even when you murdered my Hadriana. She was cruel to you, and never your true master. It was a mistake sending her. Only one who truly knows a wolf can tame one,” Danarius said. He spoke like he was taking slow sips of wine.

“I am no beast to be leashed and kept for your amusement!” Fenris shouted.

“And I am not his _master,_ ” Hawke said. She took particular care in making her words reflect just how vile that thought was to her. “He is a slave no more.”

“Is that so?” Danarius said.

He looked over the two of them then smiled. It was unnerving the way his lips curled. Hawke could not describe why if she tried, but something about it made her want to back away even more.

“Have you mistaken yourself as his lover?” Danarius asked.

Hawke colored.

“Has he told you what he is? The things that he has done? Did he explain to you how those who fed him and gave him shelter while he was apart from me were slaughtered in moments by his own hand? Did he tell you that wasn't the first time he'd tasted blood? How he had held down women as they screamed to be freed? Did you hear that he would beat men senseless at the slightest cue? Or—”

“I don't care!” Hawke declared. “Whatever he did he did under threat of violence against him. You cannot say I should fear him when the only beast I see in this room is you.”

Danarius laughed. “Then you're a fool. Listen to me, Champion—”

Hawke flinched. It only made Danarius smile wider.

“Yes, I know who you are. I do my homework. I will give you one chance. Release Fenris to me, and I won't have you all killed. Before you make your decision, tell me, what has he ever given you besides pain and misery? Take Varania, for instance. His own sister. He left her and their mother all alone, with no work or home to speak of. Their mother died looking for work, and Varania was forced into difficult jobs that fed her scraps and had her sleeping on floors. It is no wonder she brought his letter to me, asking to be my new apprentice.”

Hawke’s blood ran cold. She stared at Varania, so like Fenris, then back to the man she loved, who had a look of devastation she never wanted to see again. She could feel his hurt as if it had become her own. And then she felt the rage.

“Apprentice? You're a mage?” Fenris asked.

“Yes,” Varania said. “And it didn't mean anything. Not when I had no Altus or Magister or anyone of worth to teach me.”

“It is alright, dear. Now you do,” Danarius said, giving the image of a snake as he slid his hand onto her shoulder. Varania even flinched. Even she wasn't fond of him.

“You already know my answer you rotten bastard!” Hawke screamed. “You will never, ever, _ever_ have him again!”

Hawke was a quick shot. Quick enough that she definitely filled everyone in the room with alarm as she whipped her bow into position with an arrow already prepped to fire. Were it not for shielding magic, Danarius would have had a new hole in his head.

“Fucking dammit, Hawke! At least warn us first!” Varric said, hurrying to hop onto the other side of the bar.

Corff already had one leg into the backroom. He knew the drill with Hawke and company well enough.

Sebastian had to work harder to make room for himself to fire arrows, getting a little help from Bethany. She spread a barrier in front of them both to keep attackers back, but let his attacks out. She just had to sustain it as long as possible.

Fenris took no hesitation in rushing the guards who stood just in front of Danarius. While the magister’s barrier was still up, he was untouchable. He couldn't hold it forever, though.

Hawke, meanwhile, switched to using twin daggers instead of her bow. She was better at distance combat, yes, but she could hold in a fight where she needed to be up close. With three other mainly distance fighters present, she didn't have much of a choice.

She did her best at keeping backup guards off of Fen, but it was difficult. They tried to pile onto her all at once, seeing her as the de facto leader of the bunch. They weren't exactly wrong, but they were also incredibly annoying.

A couple of them fell to Seb’s arrows, not looking to protect against someone behind a barrier. Danarius was defending no one besides himself. That was likely was they were expecting of the enemy mage, as well. Actually, they might not have anticipated any enemy mages. This wasn't Tevinter, after all.

But that also meant, once some of them took notice, Bethany was their newest target. All they had to do was get her weakened or desperate enough to make the barrier fall.

Hawke could do nothing to defend her baby sister, still busy with two guards who were fixated on her. Varric had been lucky and clever in his handling of the enemies on his end of the fight, and was able to lend backup so Hawke only really had to worry about one.

She ducked under a blade as it swung to attack her, and stabbed the guy low in the gut with both daggers. With a sharp tug they both came loose again, now coated in thick red blood. The very same that dripped slowly onto the floor while the man scrambled his hands over his stomach. He tried to stop the bleeding as he became woozy and fell.

Now Hawke had a chance to look to where Fenris was. He had downed every guard still in defense of their master. None had been a match for him in either swordsmanship or rage.

Varania was nowhere to be seen, likely having fled before the fighting truly began. Hawke was at least glad she wasn't hurt, despite her betrayal. It would give them a chance to hear why Fenris’ own flesh and blood decided to turn on him.

Hawke crept around the dark shadows of the walls of the Hanged Man. Danarius still had his barrier up—unlike poor Bethany who was now launching ice attacks as fast as she could manage—but something to shock him enough that his guard had to drop might be just what they needed.

Standing behind him, Hawke raised her daggers high. “Die you slave owning scum!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, driving her blades down.

The release of the magic protection sent out a burst that made Hawke fly back and hit a wall. She heard Fenris cry out her name before regaining his focus. Danarius tried to light up a new shield, but the magic would spark and fail again and again in his panic.

Hawke could not see Danarius’ face, but the fury and intent to kill in Fen’s own eyes was so plain that she could guess at what responses would be appropriate. This was his moment, the time he had wanted since the day he and Hawke first met.

The lyrium in his skin charged up to a near blinding light as Fenris screamed. He grabbed Danarius by the collar with one hand, and rose the other above his ex-master. With the magic Danarius created, Fenris reached into his chest and crushed his heart with one fist.

When Fen pulled his hand back, it was clean. Danarius’ body fell as the grip on his collar was released. His death was not special, or ceremonious, but the meaning behind it carried a weight.

Hawke recalled the time she had once spent in a coastal town, before Bethany and Carver were born. She had almost drowned after being hit by one big wave. It was rare that she thought of it, but this time she could so vividly remember what it was like to go under and be carried away.

Fenris appeared to be feeling rather the same. The way his eyes lingered on the body and his skin was still sizzling with a dim light made Hawke want to hold him. She always wanted to, but now she was afraid for him. This day was going to change his life in one way or another, but this was not an outcome anyone had forseen.

Not even Varania.

The fighting was done the moment Danarius’ body hit the floor. The guards were dead, and so was their master. There was an empty seat for a rising magister in Tevinter. Hawke only hoped it went to someone who would bring about better things than the cruel man who tormented Fenris for all those years.

What that meant for anyone living in Tevinter was unclear. Varania crawled out from under a far table, having apparently hidden well over there. She dusted off her skirts and shook out her head.

Hawke was about to speak when Fenris started forward. His hand went straight for her throat, squeezing around it and pushing her chin up. Her nails scratched at his skin, trying to claw off his fingers to get free. He dropped her in a moment, leaving her to cough and wheeze.

“Why?” he asked. Fenris had never sounded so absolutely broken.

Hawke stepped in then, seeing his skin start to flare again and grabbing his forearm from behind. “Fen, don't!” she said. “Please… I know what she did was terrible but she's still your family. She's still the one you've been waiting for, isn't she? She can't do any more harm. Just let her go.”

His skin was hot under her hand. He looked angry when he turned to look at her, but he did not wrench himself away. Instead he waited for Hawke to remove her own hand, knowing he wanted that.

Varania caught her breath and stopped coughing. Then, she explained, “When we were young, my brother Leto told me all about this competition. The winner won the right to be in the service of a renowned magister, and would also be given a boon of their choice. They needed someone strong and able-bodied. So Leto trained and trained and managed to go and try to win in the honor of our master. To have one of his slaves go to work for a magister was something desirable, apparently. Likely he received his own reward.

“Leto was the youngest competitor, and the best. His speed and strength was unrivaled by the older slaves who were worn down by their age. And then my brother won and asked for the thing he had intended to get from the very start: my mother and I were free.

“But he didn't know what that cost us. We had no home, no food, no one to care for us. Mother wasn't skilled enough for most work, and I wasn't old enough. Then my magic flourished late, and I went to the Circle for a few years so I could be trained. When I was done, mother had already died and I was alone. Then, I heard what had become of Leto.

“The Magister's Guard Dog. He was a brutal killer who was without mercy. The cruelties he enacted on others, and all at the snap of a finger. I knew he had changed. I never wanted to seek him out, because who he had become terrified me. And now I see you are still capable of that. Look at what you did to these men, to Magister Danarius!”

“You don't have the whole story,” Hawke insisted.

“You killed men, too. I saw you. Some Champion you must be,” Varania said, looking Hawke up and down. “I do thank you for sparing my life. Now I will do you a favor in return and never come back to Kirkwall again.”

She marched to the door, brushing past Fenris.

“I...would have given you everything,” he said as she slid by. Though he lowered his face, Hawke spotted tears. With all the pain he had suffered, all the cruelties he had endured, Hawke still had never known Fenris— _her_ Fenris—to cry.

Varania only froze for a moment at his words. Had Hawke blinked, she wouldn't have seen it. It didn't stop her from leaving, however. The door closed with a slam behind her.

“Fenris… I don't even know what to say…” Hawke said. It was true. Apologies were not enough to settle his heart, and declarations of how much she loved and cared for him were inappropriate at best. This wasn't about her. This was about him. Yet, Fen so rarely liked to talk about himself.

“There is nothing more to be said. I am alone, as I have always been.”

Hawke's heart broke, and with it the dam that held her back from him. She strode forward and took his hands firmly in her own, squeezing them together.

“You aren't. I'm here. I've always been here. And Sebastian, and Bethany, Varric, Aveline, Isabela…” Hawke swallowed hard. “I am so sorry that today was not what you hoped for it to be. You deserve so much more. But you haven't been left with nothing, either.”

Fenris’ hand was against her cheek before she had a chance to realize his arm had lifted. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth across her cheek. She could not stop staring into those olive green eyes of his, sinking and falling further with the tide that pulled her along. She had never stopped loving him. Not for an instant. And she could see now, in him, the same feeling reflected back.

He moved away as quick as he had come close. It left Hawke gasping, as if Fenris had taken the air along with him.

“Hawke is right,” Sebastian said. “You will always have friends here.”

“Yes, and family. Even if we are not blood,” Bethany agreed.

“Can't have the dysfunctional family dinners without the broody one who glares the whole time, right?” Varric said, being slightly less helpful.

But damn that sense of humor always got Fenris. Hawke caught the slight smile before he could turn away.

“I will need some time,” Fenris said. He turned his head back to Hawke, adding, “Come to the mansion tonight? Alone.”

He said it in a whisper so quiet she barely heard, but after a moment of processing the words, she nodded. Holding her hand against her chest, she watched him go.

✖✖✖✖✖

To say that Corff was displeased with the blood on the floors and the many bodies that now needed to be disposed of would have been a severe understatement. He forced Varric and Hawke to stay and help out. Bethany and Sebastian only managed to escape because Corff didn't know either of them as well. (Hawke was pretty sure he didn't even recognize her sister with the shorter hair.)

Corff was at least sympathetic. He saw the whole scene, after all, and knew Fenris and Hawke from the many years they’d been frequenting his establishment. He offered Varric and Hawke free drinks when they were done with the cleaning, despite it being their mess to begin with.

“I have to pass, unfortunately,” Hawke said. Night was already falling.

Varric gave a knowing smile. “I will take her share of the free drinks. She has an appointment to keep.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. She hadn't even told him, and yet he guessed where she was headed. It didn't help that she kept giving longing stares towards the path she usually took to get back to Hightown. There was no way she would give that kind of look just for getting home to a meal and a hot bath.

...well, it was less likely, at least. But given the circumstances that preceded those looks of longing, it was beyond obvious that Hawke was not thinking of food.

Corff still poured her a good luck shot “for the nerves.” Hawke wasn't sure what reason Corff had to think she was nervous, but she accepted it anyway and swallowed the hard liquor with a twisted face. She never much cared for that burn.

Then, it was off to Hightown. She started to feel the warmth of the drink in her belly as she walked, moving with just a little more confidence. She had a decently high tolerance; cultivated over the years of Hanged Man ales and a natural gift she had since she started drinking. It meant she could keep her head while still getting that bit of pep in her step.

Her stomach returned to flip-flopping when she stood at Fenris’ door. She contemplated knocking. Usually she just strode right in, but this situation felt so different. She had been invited, yes, but she didn't want to disturb him too soon.

Hawke settled for a compromise with herself. She opened the door just a hare, and called out to him.

“Fen? It's me! Are you—? Should I come in or no?” she said. Maker she hated the trembling in her voice. She cleared her throat in case it would help.

“Come upstairs!” he called back. She heard it faintly echo from all the way in his room. It was actually a good thing that he didn't have too much furniture in the main halls for that exact reason.

Hawke went up the steps slow. It was strange how such a familiar place could feel so different under the right circumstances. The stairs felt longer and taller. Hawke gripped the banister for dear life.

She pushed off from it when she let go, walking through the open door of Fenris’ room. He was no longer in his usual armor, but a set of more casual clothing she had never seen before. She was so used to his spiky appearance, seeing him in clothes that were soft and comfortable just added to the strange nervous feelings she'd been having.

“Nice uh...nice outfit,” she said.

Fenris looked down, pulling at the shirt a bit. “Ah. Sebastian selected a few pieces for me in case I ever needed more clothing. He did so after lending me the fine clothes for your gathering and after he learned that I tend to sleep in my smallclothes.”

Hawke fought the images rising in her mind. He seemed to notice what he had admitted to a few moments late, his ears turning red. Both of them avoided each other's gazes for a moment, before Hawke awkwardly tried to laugh it off.

“Good thing he did, I guess. I know Isabela is bad with boundaries and can burst into people's rooms before they're fully awake from experience,” Hawke said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. He went to sit, but paused, gesturing to another seat for Hawke to occupy.

Once they were comfortable, it took them another moment or two to speak again. Fenris ended up coughing once before he worked up the nerve.

“Despite how things went, today, I am...glad you were there. Had I gone alone I would have been overwhelmed, in more ways than one. And I would not have been able to stop myself from hurting her,” he said. “I am still not certain if I am truly glad for that mercy, but you cleared my head enough to remind me I had a choice. I didn't have to be the killer she heard about. The one he made me into.”

“That isn't who you are,” Hawke said, without thought.

Fenris wore a gentle expression, if pained. “I know. You always remind me of that. I have choices. I simply do not make good ones every moment I am given. Leaving you, making you wait…”

Hawke’s lips parted just a bit.

He made a sound, slouching and folding his hands together. “I needed to leave then, I know I did, but the way I did so was cruel to you.”

“Fenris, I'm not—”

“Please, Hawke. I need to finish before you say anything more.”

The way his eyes bore into her, how could she deny that request? Hawke nodded, gesturing a hand for him to continue.

“Then my decision that followed; I did not tell you about it for fear it would complicate all matter of things. The dream I'd had…pieces of it came back to me after seeing Varania. We were children, playing in a big house that wasn't ours. I think I saw my mother, too, but I couldn't say what she looked like even if I tried. When I had forgotten the dream entirely I needed so much to have that back again.

“I made plans. I had contacts still in Tevinter, or just on the border. I had met traders here in Kirkwall who I'd seen with Tevinter goods. It was easy enough to start there, ask around and ask for people to look into a girl who might look like me. Eventually I did learn to write well enough to send inquiries by mail, and before that Sebastian would sometimes help.

“I could not tell you I was searching for my sister because I made a promise to myself. I would not pursue any romantic involvements of any kind until I had some answer of what had happened to be before I woke up in those chains and with these marks. The only person I ever wanted to have was you, but I feared that with this emptiness in me I could not give you all that you deserve. So I hid this from you.”

“I understand, Fenris,” Hawke said, voice low and soft. “I may have done the same in your position. I can't say for sure, but I know it does make a sort of sense to me. More than anything I just… I wish this had turned out the way you wanted. The way you deserve.”

“I am not worthy of having much. It was inevitable—”

“No!” Hawke said. She was tearing up, her empathy overwhelming her. “I'm sorry. I don't want to yell at you but I can't stand that sort of talk anymore. You are a person, Fen. And a good one. Every good man like you should have someone—even many someones to love him! What she did was beyond horrible, and even I questioned whether I should have let her die. But I couldn't have it be by your hand. I know you. Your kind heart would carry the guilt of it forever. The only thing you don't deserve is that burden of shame over the blood you have needed to spill over the years.”

They all had blood on their hands. Were they to tally up the kills, Fenris might not even be in the top three spots. Aveline, Hawke, and Varric had seen their share of violence. Tyr had been a mercenary, for Andraste's sake. But Fen had done so much of what he had under severe duress.

Hawke didn't see him as the killer Varania had heard of. She only saw the man she had loved for six years of her life. The man she still loved deeply.

“None of what you did was wrong. I was willing to wait for you, if that was what it took. I can wait even now, if you aren't ready. I don't want to rush this or rush you. Not like before,” Hawke said. “Fenris, I love you. That is all I need you to know. I am here for you, however you want me. If all I can ever be is your friend, then so be it.”

“No,” Fenris replied rather quickly, “that isn't what I want.”

He came forward, bending over to make certain their faces were level despite the fact that Hawke was still seated. He took her face in his palms and tilted her head back. Then, Fenris lowered his own head and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss.

Hawke could have soared to the ceiling in that moment. She could have shot sparks from her fingers and eyes and danced around the room. She felt invincible and powerful and _magic._ Mages didn't get to wield the sort of power that rumbled in her belly.

She could feel that he was holding back, aiming not to kiss too hungrily for fear that he would lose himself in her again. It was so easy when the both of them collided to let it supernova, swallowing them whole. Hawke wanted already to touch him, and had to force similar restraints that she felt Fenris exercising on her mouth.

He pulled back sooner than she'd hoped, but later than she expected. He was flushed and a little breathless, pushing back pale white bits of hair and inhaling sharply.

“I have waited to do that again for far too long,” Fenris said with a grin that crept from 30% to 50% wicked.

Hawke was sure her smile was more dazed and goofy, but she couldn't help it. That was just how he affected her. The man had too much power.

“Should I go? I'm worried about tempting you,” Hawke said, with a slight desire to kick herself for it. (Even as she knew she'd said it half as much for her as for him.)

“No, please. I will need to exercise restraint, but I do not wish to watch you go so soon. So unless it is what you want, I ask that you do not go. Stay here, Hawke. Spend the night, if you desire.”

Oh.

There was a big lump in her throat that could stand as a good measurement for how much she desired that.

“I can take the couch, then? The one d—”

“That is unnecessary. The bed has room for two. And though I need all the self control I can have to keep from doing all that I want with you, I do not have enough to sleep without you beside me tonight.”

Hawke was gonna be a puddle before dawn. That much was clear.

“Okay then,” she said. Why disagree when she didn't want to?

She put her bow down on the table, then rested the quiver on one of the legs so the arrows stayed nested in their upright position. She took of her leather bracers and boots and chest piece and every other bit of protection she wore. At last, Hawke was down to clothes of plain cotton weave, with some stains from tea and dirt.

They were so pale and light, she worried Fenris would be able to see her smallclothes beneath the pants. She wore a plain bandeau around her chest, nothing particularly fancy like those Orlesian style corsets with the boning and lace. Still, the way he stared it was hard not to feel self-conscious.

“Well, um, bed?” Hawke said. She felt like an utter simpleton. _Words, Hawke! Use more words!_

“I am not yet tired. You may sleep, if you wish to. I believe it is best if I take some time to read and think of other things. I have been slowly working through a copy of Varric's _Hard in Hightown_ anthology. A gift from the author himself.” Fenris rolled his eyes.

Hawke giggled a bit. “Let me know when you get to the part where they interrogate the saucy pirate mistress.”

Fenris raised a brow. “Well now I'm intrigued enough that I have to.”

Hawke slid under his covers, finding the sheets softer than she had anticipated. Another gift from Sebastian, perhaps. She almost wondered if the two of them hadn't had some small thing between them. It wasn't like Fenris was opposed to it. They'd spoken before about agreeing that men, women, and everyone outside of those rigid orientations were all attractive in some way or another. It was more the individual personalities that made the difference.

She smiled into the pillow under her head. Finally, finally, finally. They could get back on track and try again. Hawke had no intention of rushing, no desire to push him into the touching and kissing. Despite how she yearned for those things. He had his boundaries, and he could call the shots.

But she too had some reservations. She didn't want to rush it and get hurt again. They would be cautious, careful, but he loved her. He loved her. He _loved_ her.

Nothing else mattered anymore.

Well, everything still mattered, but it wouldn't matter as much until morning. She dozed for a while, watching Fenris’ lips mouth most of the words as he went to aid him as he went along. He had gotten advanced over the years and Varric's writing wasn't exactly the highest of academic texts, but it was still so impressive for just three years of lessons. He just amazed Hawke so endlessly.

So she watched until her eyes closed. She awoke for a brief moment when she felt his arms tighten around her. Fenris had come behind to spoon her, but seemed troubled in his sleep. She rubbed his forearm gently, then made to turn herself over to face him.

“It's alright, my love,” she said. “You're safe beside me.”

His arms were stiff, then after a moment, they settled so that he was more relaxed than he had been at the start. Hawke pressed her forehead with his, and closed her eyes again.

That time, she drifted off for good, until the sun had risen fully and sent its rays spraying through the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were initially going to get into it but I literally wrote this after going to Pride and meeting my own boyfriend for the first time in person and just…the soft intimacies mean so much. I do want to have more smut at some point, but I'm not gonna force it when it doesn't feel right. And this felt better as a quiet moment. Both of them deserve a break.


	49. Unexpected Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can probably tell by the more sporadic nature of the updates lately, I will need to be on a bit of a hiatus again. I don't think I'll try for a backlog like I usually do, just kind of updating when I get time. I do have a full time job now, so it keeps me busy most of the week.
> 
> I do, however, have the rest of this fic outlined, so other than main story quests that require me to look up videos to see what snippets of dialogue I want to use or alter, it's really just a matter of me putting fingers to keyboard and going for it...and having the time to even do that.
> 
> In any case, your patience will be greatly appreciated and already has been! Thanks to anyone who has left kudos or a kind comment to this fic. I love you all!!!

Fenris felt a breath soft and slow against his cheek. Then he inhaled lavender. His eyes fluttered open to see Hawke's sleeping face. The whole of her was so relaxed and peaceful that Fenris wondered if he had simply absorbed his own feelings from her current state.

But, no, he was just...happy.

He remembered the rest of yesterday, of course. It had never left him. Even in his dreams he saw some kind of tournament being held, wherein he was next to fight. He had no idea if it was a memory or a fiction his mind made from Varania’s story. It was a great relief when he was able to fight his instinct to run and hide while he sorted his emotions, instead snuggling further under the covers and thus closer to Hawke.

She awoke over an hour later, still blinking sleep from her eyes. It seemed she had no trouble adjusting to the memory of the previous night, smiling and going to peck Fen’s nose. The whole ordeal seemed so natural to her, letting things fall into place. Maybe he just needed to follow her lead.

So he kissed her lips.

She made a sound of surprise against his mouth, then settled into pleased hums as her eyes closed. Hawke's arms flew around his neck, but settled into place soft as feathers. She was so warm. Everything about her was just warm.

She chuckled softly as he moved back again to look at her. “You have morning breath,” she whispered.

Fenris made a face. “So do you. Your complaint is unwarranted.”

Hawke giggled in response and kissed the tip of his nose. “Didn't say I was complaining.”

Fenris smirked. She amused so easily. Right now, he knew what that felt like. He was floating, a little bit. Buzzing with a sort of energy he had only felt once before. It was subtler now than it was then, when he wound up going to bed with Hawke. This was a pleasant sensation, not a desperate rattling within him to do something drastic.

He was smarter now, too. Fenris wasn't going to pull her back to bed and have his way with her. It was tempting, there was no denying that, but he knew it was too quick. A balance of the heart and mind was needed.

He lifted her fingers and kissed her knuckles. “We should start our day. Kirkwall awaits its Champion, and I cannot keep you forever.”

Hawke reclaimed her hand only to rest it on his cheek. “Yes,” she said earnestly, “you can.”

Her phrasing was meant more metaphorically, of course, so they did end up rising up to get to the rest of the day. Hawke re-donned her armor and weapons before bidding Fenris goodbye. She promised to be back before long, needing only to settle some affairs at home and get some food in her stomach.

Fenris did expect to wait. Kirkwall would call on her in some way, he was certain. The templars and mages and refugees and Maker knows who else had come to rely on her. It was a wonder that anything got done before her family hit the shore in one of those many boats fleeing Ferelden.

He watched her go, then took a deep breath as he settled into this new existence. Yesterday brought so much change, and he still needed time to come to terms with it all. The night had been peaceful, but the numbness of shock was wearing off.

So Fenris was going to wallow alone, for a while. It felt less pathetic than wallowing with a witness.

✖✖✖✖✖

“Sister, I should warn you, we have a guest,” Bethany said. She and Hermes had been waiting by the front door for Hawke when she arrived. She could only guess at how long Bethany had been pacing there.

“Since you said 'warn’ I'm guessing they aren't friendly. Or they're another person trying to sell us something. Or maybe a Qun convert going door to door? I overheard some people at the Hanged Man saying it had happened to them.”

Bethany took a deep breath, wringing her hands together. “Please, be serious. This isn't… You need to see for yourself.”

Okay, so not something a little levity could fix. Hawke had to see to this guest of theirs right away.

She thought—in that split second she had from the foyer to the living space—that perhaps she would see a templar ready to ask questions again. Or maybe a mage who needed help. The second guess was at least half right.

Olive green eyes stared up at her from the couch. Varania sat with her legs crossed and a cup of tea balanced neatly in one hand. She had a natural elegance to the way she held herself, something Hawke had been incapable of noticing before, given everything that happened. But she was also rigid and stiff, moving her limbs like they operated by crank as she placed down the teacup.

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “You are not welcome here. If you've come for Fen, then I—”

“No,” Varania said. “I haven't come for…the one you call Fenris.”

“Hear her out first, sister,” Bethany advised.

“Fine. Tell me what you're doing in my home,” Hawke demanded, her arms crossed.

“I meant to secure passage back to Tevinter as soon as I left that place. I may have no future there, but as a mage I have even less outside of it. But I didn't have enough coin of my own. I had traveled here with Danarius and most of the funds for the trip came from him. I knew of no other place to go than here, after I thought on what to do. Finding the home of Kirkwall’s Champion was simple enough.”

Hawke only readjusted and tightened her stance.

Varania groaned. It was odd how similar the irritation and impatience was to behavior Hawke had seen in Fen. She didn't want to admit it—she didn't really want to think of the two as related at all—but it was undeniable.

“I thought, perhaps, since you had seen fit to spare my life, you might at least not be such a violent and unreasonable person. And you, for whatever reason, care for my safety. I am not here to beg. I make only the promise that you will be repaid once I make it home. Turn me away if you will, but I would think you'd prefer to be rid of me. Otherwise I would need to find employment here until I can pay my way to return home.”

Hawke was still glaring, even as the twitch in her too-creased brows settled. Varania had an argument, and not a flimsy one either. She just was one of Hawke's least favorite people, at the moment. Giving her anything, even just to be rid of her for Fenris’ sake, was not the most pleasing option.

“I want to ask you some things, first,” Hawke said. “Since you came all this way, you might as well do some good for the brother you nearly sold back into slavery.”

Varania grit her teeth, but Hawke could sense a hint of shame at that as well. Yes, she'd done it, but that didn't mean she was proud. Especially considering the outcome.

“And if I answer these things truthfully, you will give me the funds for safe passage home?” Varania said.

“Once I find the answers that satisfy me. If that seems unfair, you said it yourself. Go look for work and live out a quiet existence here in Kirkwall. The city is big enough that we can avoid where you work and any walking routes you usually take with relative ease. If you want to be free of the guilt, though, that requires more effort.”

Varania snapped her body rigid, like a shock ran through her spine. Her whole self seemed electrified, and Hawke took a moment to notice that wasn't just her imagination. Varania's fingers crackled with the tiniest blue sparks.

Right. Mage.

Hawke had nearly forgotten. “...keeping out of the Circle may prove a challenge as well.”

“Sister,” Bethany scolded, though it was all she said. Just the one word.

Yes, Hawke was for mage freedom, but maybe she was also a little petty in personal affairs. And maybe she could decide not to care too much about one stray mage that deeply wounded the man she loved. It was (maybe) cruel of her, but it wasn't as if she had actually gotten that far yet.

“I suppose I should ask what it is you want to know?” Varania said.

Hawke sat, and told Bethany quickly to ask Bodahn for some food and refreshments. Varania quirked a brow at the sudden hospitality.

“You probably haven't eaten since you were with the slavers,” Hawke said, refusing to call that vile man by name. She'd wanted to string up Danarius’ body as a warning to slave owners and anyone involved in the trade.

Varania made no comment on that, simply nodding. “As I said, I haven't much coin. Were I to spend it on a meal now, I may not have it later when I am in more desperate need.”

She emphasized the pathetic state of her situation in a way not meant for pity, but to shame Hawke for making demands. It wasn't going to work. As far as Hawke was concerned, Varania had dug her own grave the moment she involved Danarius.

Bethany didn't return, but Bodahn came moments later with a tray of muffins, butter, and fresh jam. He informed them that the tea was almost ready and would be out momentarily. Hawke dismissed him with a smile and a wave.

“I assume, given how critical you are of the practice, that the dwarf isn't a slave?” Varania said. How she managed to make a good thing sound so dirty was a true talent.

“Bodahn and his son Sandal are more like family to me, but yes, they earn their wages and get every copper they deserve for the work they do. As does Orana, who knows firsthand what it is to have been a slave who now gets proper pay for the work she offers. But I'm not supposed to be the one answering questions, now am I?”

Varania frowned, but did not argue.

Hawke leaned forward and took a poppyseed muffin with some blackberry jam. Then, she pushed the tray a little closer to Varania. The offer was genuine, to have her eat. The whole encounter didn't need to be steeped in hostility. Though the way each of them glared daggers, it was still difficult to manage civility.

“You mentioned that Fenris 'won’ his position in a tournament?” Hawke said.

“Yes,” Varania answered flatly.

Hawke rose a brow, expecting more. She gestured for Varania to continue, which earned her a small grunt of annoyance. Still so familiar.

“I was nineteen at the time, and he was just fifteen. Leto had always been scrappy, fighting with other boys in our master's house. We were lucky our master found him so amusing, because he allowed my brother to train with his own son. Leto was still smart, never injuring the boy and often letting him win, but he apparently learned a lot from those duels. I hadn't recognized it as anything but adolescent boys playing with swords.

“The tournament was announced as some splendid opportunity to become a magister's lapdog. Magister Danarius was already known well for his experiments into old elven magic. Many of them get insatiable curiosities about the dead civilization they built their homes on, but his was unlike any other. He was obsessed. I didn't know what he'd do, exactly, but it wasn't going to be good. Apparently, it turned Leto feral.”

“No, it didn't,” Hawke said, unable to keep from interrupting this time. She had restrained herself a couple moments already, but that was too much. “And I don't think you should call him Leto. It's not who he is anymore.”

Varania took a breath. “I do not know who your 'Fenris’ truly is. I have been asked to describe events about my brother, so I will, using my brother's name. If that upsets you, give me gold and I will go away. No longer your problem.”

Hawke grimaced. How much did she want those answers? She was being tested and watched as much as she did the same to her guest.

“Fine. Just watch what assumptions you make. You don't have the whole story,” Hawke said.

“Evidently, neither do you. But I suppose that is something easily fixed.”

Hawke nodded. “Go on.”

“I tried to stop Leto. He hid it from mother, but I was too keen to miss how he practiced and played at being a swordsman. He was not without skill, but that was exactly why I was afraid. If he would just get beaten and bruised and walk away, that was one thing. But he was my stubborn little brother. He would get up and up and fight until he won. Losing was no option.

“The day the tournament came I woke too late to stop him from going. I had planned to rise early, block the door and hide his blade. He simply left even earlier than I anticipated, one step ahead of me. I got there in time to see him declared Daranius’ champion, and to hear him publicly ask for the boon of our freedom. He had never mentioned it before then.”

Varania took a deep breath, and actually reached for a bit of food. Her hunger got the better of her. “The rest you heard at the Hanged Man. We were free, but helpless. So many times I would have let mother sell me back again, just to see that she had money and I was at least back where my life was set out for me. I won't pretend that it was nice, being enslaved, but he left us unprepared and without him. With so much of Tevinter relying on slave labor, there was little else for us to do.”

“That isn't his fault,” Hawke said.

“Of course it isn't. But he did leave us. Didn't warn us of his plan so we might prepare. It was the imagining and idealism of a child. And mother…” Varania bit her bottom lip hard. “Mother cried for him. She loved him so much more than me. Reminded her of father. I only reminded her of her own failings. And now she's gone.”

Hawke could at least understand that. Leandra had been good to Hawke, on the whole, but as the eldest, she always took some blame when the twins found trouble. She even took a little bit of the weight of Carver’s death. Hawke should have stopped him from charging the ogre. Leandra only admitted to thinking it once, but it was enough to haunt Hawke for life.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and meant it.

“I don't require pity. I am only telling you what you asked for,” Varania insisted.

“Fine then. What _did_ you learn of Danarius and his experiment later on? Or did you just hear about what he made Fenris do?”

“Most of it was kept secret, shared only with the elite. All that was known publicly was the result: giving Danarius’ personal guard the ability to crush a person’s heart while it was still inside their body. That wasn't all he did with the power either. I heard someone mention that 'that dog Danarius took in does love to play with his kills.’ The stories were obscene.”

“You know he was forced to do those things, don't you?” Hawke said.

“Of course I do. I'm not a fool. I understand how these things work. But you do things like that enough times, it changes you. He was willing… Fenris was going to do the same to me as he did to Danarius.”

“You did nearly hand him back to his abuser on a silver platter,” Hawke spat.

“I didn't know!”

Hawke balked. “What?”

Varania ran her hands through her hair, obviously worked up. “It's… I did know, sort of. He sent that letter and said things I couldn't believe. Then he wanted me to come to Kirkwall? I was half-certain the whole thing was an elaborate lie trying to trick me to some end.”

“So why tell Danarius? Why go at all?”

“The second question has a simpler answer,” Varania said. “I had to know. If my brother was really alive, really out there somewhere and not the twisted beast I heard stories about, I wanted to see him. I pictured Leto as he looked at fifteen, just a bit taller. I wanted my brother back.”

Just as Hawke had been left without any remaining family and went to rescue Bethany. Her own sister was not altered by cruel experiments with a case of amnesia, but there were differences in her now. There was a part of the baby sister Hawke had known before the Deep Roads that was forever lost. It was not an equivalent comparison, but it made Varania's reasoning more sympathetic.

The other question still hung in the air, however.

“So where does Danarius come into this?”

Varania swallowed. “He came to me, first. I don't know what he knew or how, but he asked for our shop to tailor one of his coats. It had been torn. He also needed it laundered to be...free of the blood that stained it.”

“Blood magic,” Hawke concluded.

“Presumably. It's powerful stuff, if done right.” She didn't hold the distaste in her tone as anyone else in Thedas would. Not those outside of Tevinter.

“It's dangerous and foul. And many blood mages kill to strengthen themselves,” Hawke said.

“Are you going to scold the mage as a close-minded southerner? Or are you going to let me answer your questions so I can leave this place?”

Hawke bit her lip and sat back in her seat.

Varania rightly took this as a signal to continue. “He spoke to the head of the shop while he was there about having lost his favorite apprentice. Said his dog had gone rabid. I knew he meant your Fenris, but I don't know that the shop owner was aware of that. Not everyone listens so closely for news of magisters and their enslaved bodyguards.

“The owner, instead, took it as a chance to mention my magic. That I was just some Laetan girl with no direction, but that I had clear talent. He was a kind man, though I was certain he also sought his own elevation in exchange for finding a new apprentice for a magister. Perhaps just an amount of coin or a blessing over his shop to bring in more business from upper class mages.

“I assumed he would brush off this as some arrogant ploy to gain favor, but Danarius instead chose to speak with me directly. He asked for a small demonstration of what I could do, so I gave it. Then he mentioned that we could probably help one another. If I were to find Fenris and bring Danarius to him, I would be his apprentice. I showed him the letter, then. I told him I was uncertain of its authenticity, but that it was all I knew. Before I knew it arrangements were made for the journey to Kirkwall.”

“So that was it. An offer and you just went along with it?”

“As far as I knew we would meet with some imposter who had been banished from or chased out of Tevinter and just needed gold. Danarius would return me home and I'd be just as stuck as before. But this was a chance—”

“To enslave your own brother again? To put him in the hands of a man who tortured him, physically and emotionally?” Hawke shouted. She had stood so fast when saying this that the table in front of her rattled, the dishes with the jam and butter clinking as they eased back into place.

Varania's eyes were wide. “I don't presume to know everything about what happened! All I know is this was my chance at something, no matter the outcome.”

“So what was your grand plan? If it isn't him, you go home. If it is, then you turn in your brother for status?”

“He wouldn't be my brother,” Varania insisted, grinding her teeth. “He wasn't, in my head, I mean. It's… The man I knew still lived was more an animal than a person.”

“You're horrible!”

Hawke had no other words for her. She knew it. She knew at the end of the day there was no way of excusing what had been done. She had only hoped there would be some reason, like she wasn't the real Varania, just a trap set for Fen. Then maybe all hope wouldn't be lost.

Hawke fell back to her seat.

“Maybe I am,” Varania said at last. “I didn't care who it would be standing there until I saw him. He is so changed but his eyes… Leto always had those intense eyes. I was certain when I saw him I would feel no connection but I _did._ But I had made my decision and brought Danarius.”

Hawke took a moment. She had to breathe. Regaining her composure was the only way she would get anything more from this. She wasn't sure what she was thinking, but she no longer wanted to just have questions.answered. Varania owed Fenris more than just a few answers.

“It would have been no better to sell someone you barely recognized into slavery,” Hawke said first.

“I claim no moral high ground,” Varania replied flatly.

“Did you want to know what Danarius did to him?”

“I get the feeling you plan to tell me, regardless.”

She wasn't wrong. Hawke explained, to the best of her abilities, what she knew of Fenris’ life before he freed himself. From the lyrium tattoos and the pain they caused every day to the way Hadriana had denied him meals and sleep for her own amusement. She knew he had also been forced to participate in some cruelties, most of which he never spoke of and all of which still haunted him. His own reflection was now a reminder of that which had been forced upon him.

And he didn't get to remember anything about his life before the ritual. Not a single pleasant memory to escape to when times were rough. Not even the thought of how his mother would hold him or what it was like to sit peacefully by a fire. Every waking moment was pain and fear until he had to numb himself just to stay alive.

Varania sat and listened in complete silence. To her credit, she paid total attention to Hawke's words, and even did show slight reactions to some pieces of the story. The fact that the markings hurt him even now was the thing that filled her green eyes with clear horror.

She was still silent for a long time after Hawke was done. She got through a whole cup of tea before she spoke again. Not a cup she downed in one go, but one she drank with normal sips and pauses.

“It is...more than I anticipated to hear of,” she admitted. “All slaves face a level of cruelty. This is just accepted. But that experiment… It feels foolish to say 'I didn't know,’ as if it excuses any wrongdoing on my part, but it is the truth. I was unaware. I couldn't have known.”

Hawke wasn't convinced of that. Not that she didn't know, that much was obvious, but that she couldn't have found out. Some of it had to be obvious, right? When Fenris first arrived in Kirkwall, he was a lot leaner and the circles around his eyes were more prominent. It had been subtle changes over time, but there was a clear difference in his overall health. Torture has an effect.

All Hawke said, however, was, “I know.” Then she swallowed the rest of her own tea. “If you wanted to apologize to someone over this, though, it ought to be Fen himself.”

Vanaria gaped. “You want me to speak to him? He's likely to rip me in half!”

“Could you blame him?” Hawke said. When Varania only furrowed her brow and sputtered, she shook her head and continued, “He won't actually. He was already riled up last time. This time he will be prepared and ready to talk. I will make sure of it. That is, if he even wants to. I'm just saying, this doesn't have to end with you leaving for good. Maybe that would be easier and cleaner, and it could even ultimately be the best choice, but it isn't the only one we've got. Some part of you still wants your brother back. Some part of him still wants to have a family. _Any_ family. Even one that could have gotten him killed.”

A dark laugh hung in Varania's throat. “You must be mad.”

“I get that a lot,” Hawke said. “But really, just stay a day or so. I can put you up in the Hanged Man, see if he wants to try talking. He says no, I fund your ride home. He says yes but it goes too poorly for further attempts, I fund your ride home. If it goes well… Basically, we’ll see. What do you say?”

Varania pursed her lips. “Swear to me I would have protection?”

“I won't let him kill you now. He doesn't need that on his conscience.”

“And…I can decide that I wish to leave at any point? And you will help me get to Tevinter?”

“After you give it a chance, yeah.”

“So he gets a choice and I don't?”

Hawke rose her brows. “At this point, I think that's kind of fair payback, don't you?”

Varania did not disagree, though she didn't look pleased about it. “I have to call him Fenris?”

“That's up to him.” Hawke wasn't sure she could ever think of him as a “Leto.” It just didn't suit him.

There was another long pause, though only enough that there was time for one sip of tea, now. “Must it be the Hanged Man?”

Hawke couldn't help her grin. “Consider it extra revenge on my part.”

✖✖✖✖✖

The real reason for the location of Varania's stay were the in-house spies Hawke had access to. Varric had enough eyes and ears around the place with some semblance of loyalties towards him to make a small army, and when Isabela was around she would be a nice addition to that force. Varania would get no letter out or contact someone without Hawke knowing about it. If the girl had lied and was going to plot something with another person in power back home, they would stop the attempt before it could start and send her packing.

More than that, if the need arose, but Hawke meant it when she talked about not wanting Varania dead. If she was gone entirely, that was another door sealed shut. And another life for Fen to feel responsible for.

She walked into his house just after dinner, bringing along some leftover food from Bodahn as an offering. Better to keep his mood up. She wanted to do so in other ways—oh so many other ways she could imagine—but didn't want to rush things. Nor did Hawke think it wise to make him associate her kisses with difficult questions and circumstances. She wanted to be his peace in the storm, not just another lighting bolt to shock his system.

(That's not to say there would be no electricity.)

He said her name in an elated exhale, moving from his chair to the door with a sort of grace he usually didn't show. Fenris was always capable of that elven movement of gliding across a floor, but chose to hunch and stomp. It was defiant to his nature. He was always defying something.

He unwittingly tested Hawke's self control when his finger brushed her cheekbone before skipping down to her collar. She inched backwards, taking his hand so he couldn't be touching her. Much too distracting.

“I have news. It's not...good, exactly? But it isn't entirely bad, either. You should know, regardless,” Hawke said, pressing Fenris’ hand back against his own chest.

“I am listening,” Fenris said, giving her hands a quick squeeze then dropping them entirely.

“Your sister is still in Kirkwall. She was at my house when I got there in the morning. We talked for a bit. She mostly just needed coin for a means to get home, but I had questions I wanted answered. Then I realized you may have some of the same,” Hawke said.

Fenris grit his teeth. “That woman is a snake. She may lie about everything we ask. Why bother with her?”

“I'm not so sure,” Hawke said. “Not sure that she's a liar, that is. Deceptive, yes, but in other ways. Point is, if you don't want to see her or speak with her, I can handle disposing of her. If you do want to, I can make those arrangements as well. Or just throw her out on the street and force her to make her own way! Anything you want, Fenris. I just ask that we not kill her. It's...it would be too much.”

Fenris stared at the floor. To be an observer in his mind would have been a fascinating thing to Hawke in that moment. The way his eyes shifted from corner to corner, his fingers stroking a smooth chin and tapping it as well, all of it showed that his inner cogs were spinning up a storm. It was no simple choice. Not like picking what flavor of soup to eat for an evening. He needed time.

“I am...unsure. The best course of action may well be to ignore her, but something nags within me to try. At least just the once,” Fenris said.

Hawke beamed. “Excellent. I can go update Varric.”

“No,” Fenris breathed, reclaiming his hold on her hands and pulling her into him. “Not yet.”

Hawke could feel a flame under her cheeks. “Okay, sure. What did you wan—?”

The question was broken when he kissed her. It should have been fierce, the way he interrupted her, but it couldn't have been more gentle. It was sweet the way he kissed her, pressing against her lips and barely moving until her own lips worked against his.

He pulled back before too long—a testament to his self-restraint. Hawke blinked rapidly, still basking in the glow of him. He did literally glow, for a moment, though mostly Hawke was caught in the figurative light he gave her. The one that made her heart soar.

She brushed her top lip with her thumb, feeling a bit of wetness from his mouth and the hasty way he'd pressed it to hers. Hawke smiled. They would both need more practice with the whole kissing thing.

She opened her mouth to say so out loud, but thought better of it. He was already brimming with nerves, and honestly, so was she. Telling Fenris he wasn't the best kisser, even just through implication, was a poor idea. Instead, she just stole the moment to peck his cheek and his forehead before grinning at him.

“I can talk to Varric in the morning, I suppose,” Hawke said, twirling a piece of hair around her pointer finger.

Fenris smirked and hummed in agreement. “In the meantime, care to join me upstairs?”

She did.


End file.
